When I Went Past My Prime Last Wednesday<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Oh, sweet dove, the morning is mine
\ntoday. You\u2019re cooing in the wrong window.<\/p>\n
Every day, you look more like the swollen hands
\nof one who\u2019s pared the peels off a hundred<\/p>\n
and sixty-three potatoes forty-five minutes
\nbefore dinner. Take a seat.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese days” you say, “are dangling tomatoes, ripe
\nyet frozen on the vine.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m standing alone on the alpine heights,
\nechoes engraving the stones.<\/p>\n
You can ride my blind horse
\nfar as she\u2019ll go, but then get off,<\/p>\n
let her come home.
\nJust leave my dark mules alone.<\/p>\n
When I Went Past My Prime Last Wednesday Oh, sweet dove, the morning is mine today. You\u2019re cooing in the wrong window. Every day, you look more like the swollen hands of one who\u2019s pared the peels off a … Continue reading
\nAnita K. Boyle<\/a> is a poet, artist and graphic designer, and the author of What the Alder Told Me<\/em><\/a> (MoonPath Press, 2011) and Bamboo Equals Loon<\/em> <\/a>(Egress Studio Press,<\/a> 2001. Her poems have appeared in Conversations Across Borders, StringTown, The Raven Chronicles, Crab Creek Review, Clover, Spoon River Poetry Review<\/em>, and elsewhere. <\/em>She is\u00a0lucky enough to live near an inspiring pond outside Bellingham, Washington with her husband, the poet James Bertolino. This fall, they will spend a little time in Italy, where they will see the small Alpine town where Jim\u2019s grandparents came from (Locana), and which will be her first adventure outside of North America.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"