Suggestion of Disappointment
by Jacob Deason
Just when the weather changed, the town burned away.
In the puddles, you could see both: ruin & recovery are that indistinct.
This was 1939 when addicts were morally weak; when I was morally weak;
When I sat with chrysanthemums & petted orchid’s leaned heads
In the hospital flower room & makeshift morgue. Sister Ignatia said to me
You will find relief just when you least expect & she shut the door & the corpse’s
Slackened limbs showed me & the curling roses dead & dying showed me.
I am somewhere in-between.