A Soothing Poultice
31 August 2005 | Brett | Poems
Like a soothing poultice he said
Not what he would say to his wife,
returned now after four months watching her mother die
in Texas, the infant a toddler, the girl
with her first loose tooth
Or to his wife’s best friend,
understanding and loving
and abundant with neglect,
the quietude of barrenness
But something he’d confess,
this steady parishioner, library volunteer,
a draftsman good with his hands
and a novice at tears