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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) The pigeons have followed me here -- to this house and life nouveau. They like the window ledge facing the sea and its salted wind that shakes branch tips resembling the Roman numeral five. For half a decade, I lived as a single woman wandering through the best and worst of fashion, softening concrete floors and stainless steel. The urban loft appeared chic, a place Where Picasso's brush might split Olga's pale nose into pleated stone. But then I met you. We married and moved to this home on the coast. where fog strips the smart veneer and swabs the bone . with a domestic glaze. Even these gypsy birds arriving from a park fountain or churchyard bell invoke a song of gathering Carefully, my hands have piled those items that call for mending. Fingers have stitched your shirt, your jacket and a sheet reflecting blue moonlight across our bed. So much of the fabric wound gathers my need to nourish and bind our lives. The only tear left untouched is dawn ripping slowly into another day and personal sense of joy. To know more about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) |
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