Leftovers
Sarah Kanabay
Posted on August 22nd, 2011
Laundry dries
on the line
at the new house
in the wind, taking
on stiff
sunlit shapes, that hold
some out of
doors
willfulness when
you bring them
down–
I know the
slow Sunday way of it
easing my trout
fat form into the early
lake, solitary
as I was before
hair, kelp-heavy,
lifting
in the olive
current–
eating
becomes new
the questions all
inward, personal, again–
dark kale and a
frying pepper, only
I still don’t have
the way of the single
serving
and see
how feeding us
has become
feeding me.
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