3 poems by Shoshauna Shy

The Blue Hour

A Grass Widow

is a mistress discarded,
the dictionary claims.
A beloved un-selected
after serving as dessert,
a trial run or intermission.
Denounced, dismissed,
de-chosen, put promptly
out to pasture, her rolls
in hay now solo, shoes
stuffed with regret.
See her wedlocked lover
in cufflinks and creased
trousers return to church
on Wednesdays, the decorum
of glass pitchers, his in-laws’ patio.
Rebuked, refused, relinquished
and freshly-forsaken, his
once-cherished sips a cup of tea
in the drift of listless days.
Dressed in white she wanders
bare-legged through the meadow,
calves scratched raw
by clinging strands
bleed rivulets in the rain.

Hotplate Box from Sears Shows Up

on the porch; the slide-chain
on his bedroom door to keep
his mother out; deadbolt to keep
out me; the weeks stacking end
on end where we don’t see him– Just
dirty plates on attic stairs, T-shirts
down the laundry chute, on the landing

View original post 199 more words

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s