V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics




Who knew that sleepers
and black mary janes
                could gather such freight—
                robin’s egg wool frock
from the God mom, gauze
Easter smock worn once, 
                the cheap velvet  number
                with platter lace collar
she insisted upon
each Sunday last winter.  
                She won’t try things on,
                so I stretch legs
and sleeves against
whatever  fit last week, 
                then sort between 
                charity,  friends, one thing
to keep.  Back ache
over piles on the bed,
                I stand lightheaded: 
                what’s too stained to save?  
Maybe this is what
widows  face after
                everyone  has finally
                gone home:  coveralls, 
hunting coats and boots,
cuff links and dress shoes
                pulled out and piled up
                like stones from furrows.


© by Julia Kasdorf


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