Wise Poets – Marie Howe – Fifty

Marie Howe

The soul has a story that has a shape that almost no one
sees.  No, no one ever does.  All those kisses,
The bedroom chair that rocked with me in it, his body
his body and his and his and his.
                                                            More, I said, more
and more and more. . . . What has it come to?
Like dresses I tried on and dropped to the floor. . . .