A poem.

Breakfast I conned a muffin from the kitchen table
Sought some daylight and peace in the ruffling shadow
Of our clothesline.

Later I undid the necklace of white cotton shapes
One by one in the fading day
A quiet rhythm.

The tight rope
At night stands empty
Too slim to support a moonbeam.

Slender space through shutters reveals
Another morning, another mother
Stringing slips until the sag sets in.

Daisy Alioto

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