…
Like the dried up dead wasp with its venom
gone rolled up on the windowsill like a
ball of dust my mother slumbers with her
head bent near a bowl of fruit Pat Maples
sent listening to Ella Fitzgerald
sing, a dying lady and a dead one
sharing the moment I am sharing too
taking a break from the navy bean soup
whose hambone is left over from Christmas
with its stock simmering in celery
carrots and onions. “The trembling trees
embrace the breeze tenderly,” is really
not true on this stark dark December day
—No, music is always true while it plays.