Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Jack Gilbert


I came back from the funeral and crawled 
around the apartment, crying hard, 
searching for my wife's hair. 
For two months got them from the drain, 
from the vacuum cleaner, under the refrigerator, 
and off the clothes in the closet. 
But after other Japanese women came, 
there was no way to be sure which were 
hers, and I stopped. A year later, 
repotting Michiko's avocado, I find 
a long black hair tangled in the dirt. 

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