@font-face { font-family: “Times”;}@font-face { font-family: “Cambria”;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: “Times New Roman”; }p { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 10pt; font-family: “Times New Roman”; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }
@font-face { font-family: “Times”;}@font-face { font-family: “Cambria”;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: “Times New Roman”; }p { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 10pt; font-family: “Times New Roman”; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }she couldn’t read what it said
or whom it was for
the memory only contained the sudden
image
from an antique shop
or estate sale
it was forgotten now
where or when
but the unexpected frailty,
the image,
weak knee’d her
stalled staggering
at this moment held
helpless, sightless,
merely astonished at
the wetness of her cheek
falling into gardenias lain
on the bed,
her robe slipping open,
she turned her body
toward the open window.
– Hoc Scripsi
Image from Magpie #42
not my best effort – but there it is.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 