A Muse

By Melissa Boston
May 9th, 2014

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Edna,
I thought I’d find you here eating a pear,
staring at the desert ground waiting
to see if it would break apart into ants
 
carrying seeds to you. To see if the empty
creek with its shadow-current cut into sand
would fill with rain that was supposed to come
but didn’t—the weather is off by a day
 
here. Tell me how before you left home
you made sure the porch lights were off
because he and you weren’t returning there.
Or, how you deleted his name to numbers
 
you didn’t plan on writing over and over
until those numbers changed in order
and he became someone else you could kill
on paper. Tell me, Edna.