March 11th, 2009

Sitting on the way home,
next to a boy she saw in a play,
she faces the window while damp spots appear on her sleeves

Walking home she squints downward
passing landscapers and empty garbage bins
knotted up and pounding

Screen door against her back,
first, second, lock undone
She walks in and faces the beige wall

Damp spots on the wall
She’s uncurled, and there is a candle that is done burning
that she curses
along with the prayers that go with it