Poems March 2015
Display window, blizzard
and you know the street,
you know the blizzard, and you know her,
the just-married girl,
she is walking through the snow to the bus
with a shopping bag in each hand
and going home to her honey,
and seeing herself in the window
she models everything—
the red dress, the unornamented sheath,
pumps, beads, belt—
her vision preserved in glass,
the window trimmed like a bassinet
but she needs to move, it’s getting worse,
the bus is pulling up so
goodnight, she says, goodnight to the glass, thanking God
for the city, for the snow,
and all that still goes on when she is not watching
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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 33 Number 7, on page 23
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