At the Plum Tree
by Gloria Viglione

how shy the mourning dove!
hidden amongst purpled leaves
wings enfolded

how she, ever so gently
can pierce the soul
like yesterday
when perched in shadow
she toned the unnamed losses
of the widow sweeping her porch
the skinny boy on his skateboard
a UPS driver idling at 5th and Pearl

if only we could
empty ourselves like the dove
pour our grief out in beauty


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