In the street in front of the market,

a young woman in respectable

slacks and a blouse clenched

her shopping bag of Fuji apples.

She walked like someone seeking

a child lost in a crowd

even though there were no crowds

only cars slowing to peer

at her brittle pacing

past the market

and then back again —

she veered in ragged circles

like a compass without

the magnet,

like you

in your kitchen,

the place we’d always find you

and the lovely sauces

you no longer make

because nothing is where

it is supposed to be

not the ladle

or the small saucepan

or the salt

so instead of circling in confusion

you now sit

with your yarn and needles

sewing the same pattern

again and again.


Photo Credit: crushculdesac.tumblr.com