distracted by a delicateness
i don’t summer with enough
the wood goes unsplit
and blankets are added to the bed
my hands roughened not unlike the sun
-cut skin of ewa in august, dirt freckled
knees and a cobweb of fear about harvest
spun in the window
under the frame of last winter’s regret
she is canning all the earth could bear
no madonna has yet to reveal herself
in a clearing on the edge of town
hope is no gun at the door
the children send a ruckus
clanging down the field
haven’t you seen the laughter
living inside the word slaughter
Copyright 2021 nicole v basta. Originally published in Ploughshares, Spring 2021. Reprinted with the permission of the author.