Today's poem is by Rachel Abramowitz

Unshriven with Company
       

I see you, ghostie. I see you fall from the crabapple

like a worm, like oxblood into the milky dirt. I have lain

my table; I ask only for the twists of the fig tree, georgic.

Wine nearly blue, cheese old as a saint.

It has never been summer here, surely you can sniff that.

God, will this romance never end!

Willful dust upon the eyelashes, grass a spear, the moon

the skull's prisoner. I am tired

of feeling these things. The harvest arrives, jealous

as a virgin. You know what to do.

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Copyright © 2023 Rachel Abramowitz All rights reserved
from Conduit
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission