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Squares

Squares

her hands

needed something

to fold

something to carry

something to put away

and in the rhythm of repetition

she returned to the woman she was

who remembered she had a husband

and boys and girls

who called her, “Mama”

and she could remember when her husband died

when her children left home

and she could remember the garden in the back

full of fruit and flowers

and how the roses blushed and burned

and she remembered that she was worn

slap to the bone

that soon she’d leave her children

for her husband

and when the last of it

was folded

and carried

and put away

she returned to the woman she was

who could not remember

her name

TL

Published inTamiko Lowery