A poem for Wednesday

 This is by Priscilla Becker. You can buy her book, Internal West, here.

White Tone
I think I prefer now being unloved
and listening for my footsteps in the dark.

There was a tree in the yard –
not any more –
whose crooked branch I’d watch.

I held a ceremony in which I married
my black dog.

There is a certain smell
that overtakes me, for instance
once, in a button shop.

And then I came to disregard.

Also a kind of nakedness
that has to do with words.

I made a list
of things I’d like. I tied
a string. The sound as when your foot
breaks through the snow,
that sound was in the house.
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