Now That the Children Are Grown
        After Patrizia Cavalli

and time seems wrapped up and bowed
now that no one calls me to wipe excrement
and I can watch out the window
the scattered congregation of crows
now that there is no one to dress and undress
and snap and tie and dress and undress
and the weeds sprout flowers atop their stalks
now that there are no more sweet loaves of bellies
and I can climb in a vehicle and curse at highways
now that the evening rolls over and yawns obtusely
and no one cries out with fever and I can sit
fully within myself and pretend
to care about the transformative weeds
now that every word I dig up
can be held and weighed like a potato
suddenly I am fond of earthworms
and their professional urges.

Tweet
Copyright © 2016 Joanna Solfrian All rights reserved
from Harvard Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission