errol miller
THE GATHERING KINGDOMS OF EARTH
Just pretend it is Sunday
your heart beating at a tidy rate
swaying along to night-music
time's slow disintegration
here on a summer day
a pretense of normalcy
white clapboard houses
ducks on a pond
and mist in the mountains
you and I are older
not easy to look at now
you were a young woman once
in a classic Woolworth linen suit
flaunting eager fleshy skin
taking bacon and eggs and coffee
for a lifetime to the mouth
of the Ohio River, yes
Cinderella, you're still beautiful
frying fish for supper, wondering
if God is out there somewhere
the wind upon your breasts
in wide-brimmed hats
we kneel down together
curving into damp grass
the Great Plains slanting
into the snot-faced
children
of New York City.
