artwork: ralph murre
Aftershocks
by
Susan Tepper
The
veil has creased the morning
into
aftershocks— an unmade bed
will
stay unmade, wet towels
drape
an uncertain future—
about
this place, did you see
the
garden turn crumbling gray
during
the winter storms
It
was a matter of privacy.
You
rushed to set the stones
back
where nature had upended
But,
still—
~
previously published in The Green Door
