"Grey Orange Barrel" by Josette Urso
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the onset of age
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She's lonely and about to make the best of it. She is alone.
She can't be reached, and in this she is a genius of need.
She is learning the graces.
She would take everything you have
and accuse you of giving her too much.
She would be right.
She would accuse you of loving her.
But there is cold comfort
in a quiet conversation,
it is Spring again.
Again there is a memory of Spring
these days, in the soft air
burning, like ice might seem to burn.
Or knowledge, like the heat of a new season
arriving,
might seem more than memory
or a wind only;
the blown outline of a city
without Spring or Winter,
like a blueprint
of a concrete situation.
She would accuse you of loving her
too much, and again
she would be right.
Marc Penka 2002
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