She’s away from home,
but won’t say for how
long. Her husband is out
in the garage sawing
and sawing, wood dust
falling into fragrant piles.
He is building a chest
to store the many
photographs of cities
she has loved, blue domes
of a mountain town, green
and white awnings by the sea.
She wanders through
markets tasting sausages
and tea, watching dark-haired
girls transform into yellow
birds. Skirts billowing, they
soar above her head, breaking
ranks when sun gleams
like gold through afternoon
haze. A woman in a black shawl
offers a bubbling drink, then
slips through a doorway
in the red brick wall. Old men
beg for matches, which she
gives in a queenly way, gracing
them with a touch of her milky hand.