The ring was spur of the moment.
Offered my grandmother's gold,
Marlene kept it, reluctantly.
She wrote about Lutheran hymns,
The Nygaards in forests of stone,
Norwegians in the Dakotas,
Perfume that she carefully dripped
On envelopes with her slanted hand.
In crowded barracks I savored
Each letter, proverb and dove,
The desert moon, unsleeping.
Did she mean to write cancer?
Marlene's abbreviation
Threw me: "CA. in the ankle".
"A hell of a thing", the buddy
Next to me said; "I'm sorry".
No comments:
Post a Comment