Poems Written In Exile At Lake Morton, No. 30
She, dark-haired, wore
the wedding ring her grandmother wore.
At night before her mirror,
she gazed at herself in the wedding dress.
The white lace had yellowed, greened.
There were torn places
Where the breasts protruded
and the knee caps pressed.
She had never married
even when she was married.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Sondra Ball
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