K a t h l e e n  K i r k


I woke in grief and beauty


In the night I had seen my sister
leave our childhood home

and a small tree in a small city garden
hung with monarchs.

Startled, they rose, then settled again,
revealing themselves in flight.

I could waste my waking life
reading dreams, and do, some mornings.

Wings closed—in floral disguise,
pale orange repose.
























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