Jeanie T2

Jeanie Tomasko

From the Photograph, “View”

Early morning, and down in the clay-

roofed town bread rises. Stray dogs

rifle through the night’s offerings,

a cat laps the widow’s milk.

We are all points on a line

stretched from this to that.

(This is one view of the world.)

And you know what a circle means.

From here, green leaves frame the town.

Their thin edges scrape the air.

When you talk about your husband, you say

he is late.

Be glad you have no memory. Be glad

you have no need for one. Behind you

the city of goldenrod weeps with its dying bees.

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