Among the students between the buildings,
the colors of their clothes is a mirage of tulips.
The lash of hot and cold upstate
New York mountain weather;
April splinters like an ice palace.
And among them, one who looks
like a Sicilian widow; is this a new beginning
or is she bringing food for her daughter?
If so, the daughter will likely spurn it.
“Mama,” she’ll say, “go back to the kitchen.
Leave me alone.” The widow shrugs and passes
with the stream of students. She is
very likely a student herself just trying on
one of her multiple guises, the black cape,
the wrapped shawl; hurrying by herself
prematurely old, carrying a basket of produce,
her eyes deep-set and dark as olives.
~ from In the Next Galaxy (Copper Canyon Press 2004)
