“Salem” published in Southern Women’s Review 2015



Standing at the great desk, Hawthorne

must have looked out these windows.


I stand in his treads, place my elbows

in the wells his created, imagine my pen


flowing with indigo ink. Leather boots.

Old kid gloves and a feather in my hat.


My poet’s shirt flows in gathered folds

of muslin, open at the neck. Which pages


were kept, which thrown to the fire?

My black dog lies at my feet, soaks


up the praise I bestow, wants to know

when we’ll descend the lofty steps


to play in the snow. I pose a while longer,

then snap the leash and whistle.

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