[SHE USED TO THROW HER OLD CROCKERY AT THE MOON]

She used to throw her old crockery at the moon

which mends chipped plates

darns wedding-sheets

and sorts lamplight-yellowed snapshots by degrees of sadness

The whole universe shared my mother's household chores

Contrary winds blew into her bureau drawers

bargained between her shutters

and swept out towards town the dream-crumbs she nibbled

in her sleep

Negligent mother

clouds of a dubious whiteness dried out on your clothes-line

provoking the nightingales' sarcasm and saddening the sun

you reported them missing to the police when the wind

carried them out of the valley

called the wind a thief of sheets and cattle

then withdrew your complaint when the clouds came home

to you, fog kneeling on your doorstep.

Structure

17 lines · 3 stanzas