She stands at the top of the stair
as childless Tom
saw her weep.
Fatherless in red Spyders elsewhere
rich daughters whiz through Paris
or cruise the Greek Islands as non-
daddy leaps in grasshopper fashion
on a merry-go-round. Tall and bony
they’re properly married, endowed.
Spared such a fate, the richly poor
country girl sometimes resented
her tattered state. Having to seek
treasures in a briar patch, she
found daffodils and violets
in dewy meadows mid-March.
Now late in the years, the wind lays
burnished gold leaves
on her feet.*
*“Cultivated” they called it
in the fifties—my poetry
sensing the trans-
Marianne & Estlin
from the throoat to the tongue
makes a whole world
if you say
at his or on her feet.