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| bottom edge of art by Erin Currier |
In the study my husband
watches Tina Turner in
video on the computer’s
flat screen and I wonder where
my own low limbo, sexual mojo
has gone. No longer
this limber, I sit instead
out of doors alone, wearing
no underwear and a grey t-shirt
embossed with a civil rights
activist and his wife. The wind
sweeps softly but doesn’t touch
the cobwebs at the foot of these
wrapped metal chairs. The holly plant
is thinning and needs water
where the dog has eaten away
at its roots.
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