Ode to a Woman Who is Not Where You Think She Should Be
They asked where to find you,
said you had all but disappeared.
They asked me for your likeness
and I told them —
At the bottom of the laundry hamper
where a little ink stain sits along the stitches of the liner.
There, and in the back of the produce drawer,
clinging to dust and leaked fluid
of broccoli past the sell-by.
Sometimes in the cupholder of an SUV, driver’s side
where a french fry…