The Housewife’s Lament: Guest – by Bonnie McClellan

Having left my eyes ajar,
night falls in:
drunk and tired as ever,
asking me to tend
the electric altar of his current stars.

It’s been days since
you packed up the suitcase
of your kiss.
I’m here with the night,
catching the anti-meridian in my arms.

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The Housewife’s Lament: Calliope

CALLIOPE

The circus of your funeral came to town
with show posters
and the cacophony of bells pealing
down to the quick
insistent, pacing, rhythm;
The priest’s nasal bullhorn prayers appealing
down the night’s procession.

TOMORROW ONLY

Your show posters remain. Peeling
down at the corner.
Not firmly affixed or
not enough to hold.