The Ex-Husband Speaks

Mary Crow

Her hips were the pillow
I ruined myself on --

the porch for my swing --
how I would do it,

and do it! As if a wind
tipped the sprocket of pelvis

and I became a machine
she could not stop.

But who wove the spell
I suffered under?

And who could break it?
Whose was the will

that eddied and eddied
and who was the still pool

it emptied into?
And where, where was the joy?

Copyright ©1996 Mary Crow. All rights reserved.

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