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Poetry | December 2013

Sunday Night Dinner

By Elaine Gilbert

Corn silks tangle
between my wet fingers.
My husband plays guitar,
the notes like water over rocks.
Corn in the pot,
meat in the oven,
child in the bath, too big
for me to bathe him.
Sweating skin,
crickets croaking,
windows open,
child soaking.

1 reply on “Sunday Night Dinner”

Marianne Lonsdalesays:
December 8, 2013 at 9:17 am

I’m in that cozy scene with you – lovely -thank you

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