Friday, November 09, 2007


The day my husband left
our G.P. choked on oaths un-Hippocratic.
“If pain persists,” he cried,
“throw his clothes out the window.”
I watched them fly: socks, shorts, shirts –
every single tie.

The day my husband left
I made myself a dry martini,
missing the cool precision of his lemon peeler –
its perfect spiral.

--Nina Bruck, Still Light at 5:00

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