remembering the women’s building

 

 

I am here to be constantly erring

while you watch the film of the king in tears

take his pay cut, cuts were coming 

and he knew it, but here I am writing 

notes for a poem again, entering the building

that we met in, running to accept

its proffered yoke. Not that we sundered,

but footage of me erring

projected continuously on the walls 

took space the nights had saved for reparation,

and afterward the king would have his tears.

 

 

 

 

stephen rodefer

 

 

Seine of tossed ashes

   robe of brown fronds

 

 

the virtue of fire

erases with blazing

 

the rancor, then a wait

   in darkened rooms

 

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