Three Poems

Usual Rosettes

Once, twice. Today, tomorrow. There will always be a limit.
                                                                                      Marc Chagall

Early flowers caused the frost, but the plane tree
threw its shadow, and the lilac bush stood cool,
shocking the house like fresh linen. My father
supported my mother in such precautions.
They quarrelled and broke, no matter how
it simplified things, and her large white skin
was smooth - sweet though forbidden. I could
make a lake of the dusty bundles that held
everything in life for me - the dour wallpaper
always bulging at the seams, the kitchen
cupboards of pine without knots, the hurled
unbreakable plates on the floor. The street below
had just begun to heal. Strange to come away
...