Sunday, August 28, 2016

Linda Stevenson #27 August 27 Precipitously


Learning that yet another one of us
has slipped away in the night,
loosed from the body’s hurt and limitations,

I carry this revelation
like a shopping bag
on the bus,

the difficult weight of it
my contribution
to general grief;

then head for the bookstore
and buy Les Murray,
a pristine hardback, fragrant as autumn.

His dedication is “To the Glory of God”.
I spend my pension coins
on coffees I don’t want or need

so I can sit alone,
sipping, tasting,
turning from poem to poem.


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