there was a woman
who sat atop a bottomless table
asking me questions about her genius daughter
we remained over struggling cups of answers,
she badly needed to recount her graduate life,
now,
inside,
while the place gradually burned down
all around us
and i had never seen her daughter
though times id caught sight of her
through this clear windowpane
while she sat still
begging the night sky
doubtful questions
one time i think we touched lips
tenderly melting away under that flag
we knew would be dying soon,
so full of holes
why should we sing of it!
last night there was a woman
who cried “goodbye” to her genius daughter,
still surrounded by ashes of
unrequited questions
11/78/69
Cambridge, Mass