Leaves gossip in the wind. How do I know if they tell
the truth now that they're strewn on the ground?
A boy comes to my house and knocks on the window.
His tight knuckles are stones against glass.
He wants to sell me a paper I don't want to read.
I give him a dollar, spread the classifieds
inside the iron cage where my parrot shits
on women seeking casual encounters.
I placed an ad years ago, met a man
who tied me to the bedposts and threatened
to leave me there for my husband to find.
I knew I would pay for this. Someday.
The last time I sprawled naked on the bed
the telephone brought news, a car
veering on ice, a windshield shattered,
your body pitched into a ravine where water
flowed from the city as if it could escape.
I couldn't move for days. All around me, voices
filled with speculation, how you'd been drinking,
how you'd been seeing someone else.
Hands covered me with a blanket.
They brought me soup with thin white noodles
that could have been bodies floating down a river,
headed to a place bodies don't belong.
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