by Kate Baer
Some nights she walks out to the
driveway where the lilacs blooms and
lies down on the warm pavement even
though the neighbors will see and wonder
what kind of woman does such things.
There she stares up at the slender moon
and thinks about the baby albatross filled
with discarded spoons or the time a friend
asked what she was working on these days
and she answered, “Who has the time?”
even though she meant something else
Across the lawn the crickets sing while the
earth lets out its tired breath and wanders
through the trees to greet her.
from What Kind of Woman