Monday Poem
I have trouble with old picstheir sweet bitternesstheir cutting edgetheir tricks —a daughter’s mittenshung from cuffslaid out in kodachromea taunt of time. Enough. I’d rather mine old nuggetsupturn what’s scatteredin my skull —the gold stick with what my head will hold I do not take nostalgic risksThe photobox stays beneath the bedwith jewel cases of…
