Sorrow stalks me in an old coat

August 23, 2004

the color of churned water.
I have worn it for years—
it no longer fits, tugs at the waist
where I have grown under cover,
spreading like roots, like grief,
swelling in rows of deep rhizomes
long after sowing. How often
can a heart break? When
might I be rid of this old coat?

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