Friday, May 20, 2016

A Maiden Aunt

A Maiden Aunt

Wanting to arrange some words on a page,
I suddenly recall my Aunt Mary’s hands:
how, beneath the loud exuberant voice
that so annoyed my parents, unremarked,
her slim, turquoise-veined fingers
roamed alertly over the silverware and china   
she’d washed and polished earlier,
setting out the places where we’d eat
our once-a-year dinner in her home.

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