I’LL NEVER BE YOUR MAGGIE MAY
Ditchwater by the refinery, white light
when I woke in the morning and saw it.
The spaces that never quite got filled,
notes whirling on strong westerly winds.
Not thirst not hunger not him not when
I had scrubbed the half moons clean.
But ditchwater, like raindrops and red
sorrel, dusty beside the railroad track.