Kathryn Stripling Byer


Unroll every saved piece
and parcel and
dream, every love
letter, recipe,  nightmare
you dare not tell
before breakfast (bad
luck), every thrown away
blouse, too tight
denim,  the outgrown,
the faded, the lost and
the never to come again
moment   the trees
as they gathered the two
of you into their shadows
then let you go
as you knew they had
to, but here
lie the unfoldings,
wine splashed and
wrinkled, the grimy,
the silly, the lists
you forgot to take
with you each day
into the rest of your life,
here your life
itself spread on
the table and you left
to call it whatever
it means, clutter,
kindling, or
cast aside wings
you almost believe
you could let fly.

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