A Progression of Shelters
if the rain is thick enough to make walls …”
In our house we weather the pulse of rain
against shingle; stars fizzle
like damp cinders against the window.
People depart, one by one (looking back)
two-faced as the moon; diminished by time.
We who remain deny moon-madness
and are pared away by slivers …
I braid my hair for sleep (a thick coil).
You dream of serpents.
“Remember the turtle when talk turns
to shelters; he carries
his own umbrella.”
P.S. I found "A Progression of Shelters" among Bea's things, in her handwriting. It turns out she had painstakingly copied over the poem which was written by a young friend, Lisa, who recently expressed pleasure that I included in this blog.