*Jane Peterson* Woman Reading
Evening Song
Laughter
Brittle
As
Winter,
Anecdotes
Creased
With
Handling,
Bold
Tales
Retold,
Form
The
Domain
Of
The
Old.
I see
Them
In
The
Café
Dwindling
Away
The
Last
Of
The
Day
Without
Excuse.
They
Have
More
Of
Use
To
Say,
And
Unlike
Me,
The
Coming
Closing
Hour
No
Longer
Carries
Power.
Laughter
Brittle
As
Winter,
Anecdotes
Creased
With
Handling,
Bold
Tales
Retold,
Form
The
Domain
Of
The
Old.
I see
Them
In
The
Café
Dwindling
Away
The
Last
Of
The
Day
Without
Excuse.
They
Have
More
Of
Use
To
Say,
And
Unlike
Me,
The
Coming
Closing
Hour
No
Longer
Carries
Power.
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