sex at antioch

my friend, a woman who checks her
closet for labels that say large
(thinking that one may have shown up

during the night while she lay sleeping)
picks a popped button off the cold tile floor,
hands it to me, then pulls the tag

off her new dress and says, with no hint
of a smile, the definition of beauty is easy:
it is what leads to desperation,

cervantes's windmill on fire again,
a suitcase of snow in summer,
seven spills you make across her, across the body of your memory.

Sisters, 1980
Lost in Ohio

Copyright © 1997
Forward to Ultra Postcards
Back to 10 K Rob
Path of Least Resistance