A year I watched a woman disappear
each week the light a little more unclear
her eyes I saw a little more of Less
each time; knew the husband-kind
a stranger at her side, driving arm,
the hand he put the ring upon
her finger, with the coin to pay
the tollbooth operator—which is I
at the nucleus of this poem, stewing
in the soup of things forgotten.
Winter zipping in. .what is person?
hers has gone. .his shirt, pressed
tidy by himself. .she dissolving,
disappearing. .an inaccessible machinery
has dug away the pathways
taken copper off the surface of the street
and her instant memory will not run.
all is recognised, not significant:
the salmon buns, dill & wine; in general
little to recognise the magnificent
behaviours made a home from house:
ordered, trained & active, ran
a family, home, a local supermarket.