Liz Dolan

Teresa

Though she has had many lovers
she strolls down the street cloaked
in her aloneness. She ignores the shoemaker
who stares out his window under frog-lidded eyes
the fishmonger who ices the mackerel and shark
the market where the caged chickens
squawk before their heads are cut off.

She sees again the full-lipped, raven-haired man
at a sun-filled table lingering
over his espresso and paper. She feels
his eyes sear her flesh. Now is not the time for him.

She is sick of the flesh. Now is the time
for nine days and nights
on her knees, a novena to the Virgin whom she trusts
will keep her whole.
___________________________Each day she will pin her sheets
to the line,____________________________________________
_________listen to them crack, snap in the wind,
_________watch them whiten in the sun…