part 2 and 3

ii.

she tells me she's tired of this as she slips on her shoes-- tells me she's going to throw herself in front of a car. her hips hurt too much, the house is too dirty. she tries opening the front door and i help her because it's too heavy. determined to end it she grips the railing and goes down the stairs one step at a time. at the bottom she pulls her pants up over her hips, rolls them twice and looks towards the street as a yellow volvo drives by. she takes a deep breath and steps forward. her cane hits a crack

in the pavement. she lifts it and looks at the worn out bulb on the end. now standing next to my truck she asks where we're going. a yellow daisy peeks into her periphery. she turns towards it, sun to her back. gripping the stem for a second, she tells me these bloom year-round. noticing a weed in the flower bed she leans her cane against the wall. her old wrinkled fingers dig into the soil and with little resistance she retrieves the weed. she continues down the flower bed, getting dirt in her nails and into the creases of her skin. she says there are too many. at the top of the stairs, pockets full of weeds, she told me she got them all and i open the door for her and she comes back inside, sits by the window to watch the cars pass by.

iii.
(for jack gilbert)

i read him
his poetry,
his head
resting back
mouth
slightly agape

i ask him
if he met ginsberg
he smiles
and nods

i ask him
to sign my book--
i put the pen
in his hand,
a blue bic,
and he stares
at it for a second
before trying
to eat it.