WEBVTT

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From the Window.

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This lady who wintered
poorly, had thin hair,

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and sat in the sun, under
the cascades of forsythia,

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with a towel and a mirror,
in black sateen pajamas.

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I do not think, in
all of Hade, there

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are such desperate shades
as thin-haired ladies.

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The mirror flashed.

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I winked.

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Under the forsythia flowers,
her stare into the cruel glass

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fished up a mole, horrors,
and two wild hairs

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she plucked.

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And then she snipped
her fingertips.

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One smelled the steam
from molded snows.

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And in the pool of
sunny heat, the wind

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lashed the gold forsythia
and the sun sucked.

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