Collaborate2011

Poem 13, Raphael Matto

In poetry, Raphael Matto on July 26, 2011 at 12:03 am

Wives

I

Barney rummages through the cutlery drawer
until he finds his wife, under a fork.
He holds her legs and stirs his porridge.

II

Tiny white wife in a basket,
hanging by her fingers from the clothes line;
it’s a sunny day.

III

Folded in half, a wife
eases into an envelope like it’s a tub —
she licks the stamp herself.

IV

All my wife’s aprons
folded into cranes in the back yard,
stiff with starch.

V

A wife drifting in her dress —
we watch her from business class,
silhouetted, blow towards better things.

VI

Chimney sweeps shoo them from rooftops,
their noisy hems flap, falling past fire
escapes.

VII

The weather and mail and milk and door
men, they all take notice.
although

VIII

Fred lifts up his newspaper,
looks across the room and discovers
his wife has been gone for years.

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  1. nice

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