A poem for musicians' wives

After Church today I meandered through three of my favorite stores, all in the same shopping center on Shepherd: Whole Earth Provisions Co. (my old place of employment), Cactus Music and Video, and Bookstop. While in Bookstop I salivated over a new collection of Jane Kenyon's poetry. I've heard nothing but adoration in regards to her poetry. Even so, I was a good girl and placed the book back on the shelf and sipped my no whip-green tea frappucino. Instead I Googled Jane Kenyon and found the following poem. I have clean towels tumbling in the dryer right now. And as I type Johnny is hopefully flying home with The Smith Band. They have been stranded at the Chicago airport almost all day - their flight was delayed three times! I will be in slumber when my drummer arrives home.

Alone for a Week by Jane Kenyon

I washed a load of clothes
and hung them out to dry.
Then I went up to town
and busied myself all day.
The sleeve of your best shirt
rose ceremonious
when I drove in; our night-
clothes twined and untwined in
a little gust of wind.

For me it was getting late;
for you, where you were, not.
The harvest moon was full
bust sparse clouds made its light
not quite reliable.
The bed on your side seemed
as wide and flat as Kansas;
your pillow plump, cool,
and allegorical....

(For another Jane Kenyon poem, see David Hartland's latest entry about his wife who is greatly missed.)

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