Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Orphaned Old by Marie Ponsot

Orphaned Old

I feel less lucky since my parents died.
Father first, then mother, have left me
out in a downpour
roofless in cold wind
no umbrella no hood no hat no warm
native place, nothing
between me and eyeless sky.

In the gritty prevailing wind
I think of times I’ve carelessly lost things:
              that white-gold ring when I was eight,
              a classmate named Mercedes Williams,
              my passport in Gibraltar,
              my maiden name.


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