A Woman Without A Country
PoemsBook - 2014 | First American edition.
From "Talking to my Daughter Late at Night"
We have a tray, a pot of tea, a scone.
This is the hour
When one thing pours itself into another:
The gable of our house stored in shadow.
A spring planet bending ice
Into an absolute of light.
Your childhood ended years ago. There is
No path back to it.