Lenox Aubade
        for Amy Clampitt

I grew my hair out
          in a depression. Let it knot
into a forum for the birds
          in my thoughts, sparked
into actuality

in the wee dark. What wills them
          awake? An early
sentry, then the rest
          beckoning? Coordinates rising
when stars in the lifting night
          are falling.

          Letting them nest,
I felt their joy
          accumulate, until I was ugly
no longer, but a self divorced
          from a body:

          beach of grit
end sea glass, bit driftwood, God-
          forsaken ovaries, ashes
buried beneath a listing tree, decades
          of love, the burned,
uxorious husband.

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Copyright © 2012 Paula Bohince All rights reserved
from The Children
Sarabande Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission