I am Mrs Dr W Hunter Blair
I sit on My Deck
& write poetry
I dress for The Weather
& whatever else is going on
I listen to The Sheets & Towels
fluttering on the line
I listen to The Birds
The Waves
& whatever else is going on
I listen
I write
for Joanna Gilman Hyde
Here I sit in My Black Slip
of a Nightgown
waiting for The World to End
waiting for All Our Global Assets
to fall apart
to be rearranged
to be supported
by All The Silver & Gold
We can possibly carry
I See A Piece Of The Universe
on My Husband’s Urban Tribe Sweater
washed in Tide
in and out Tide
& dried in Bounce
to get The Fuzz off —
but I’m afraid
I’ll have to use
The Lint Brush
Now
What Do I See On My Lint Brush?
The Scattered Crumbs
of Lemon Loaf Cake
brush off My Black Lap
like a speckling of stars
& down The Cleavage
of My Tattoo Sweater
like Those sucked inside
My Very Blackest Hole
