The soldier's girlfriend by Gwendrina
( Dusk in the piazza, early spring.)
If not
for her dark hair
streaked with maroon highlights
and her mauve sweater,
she would appear
in her chiseled poise
as a caryatid
detailing the stone
arch of a courtyard window.
If not
for the silence
so impeccably plain
just moonlight
filtering through
the cloud’s middle ear,
she would not be heard
exhaling a sigh
of relief.
The letter did not come
and no crows
landed on the lamp post
to predict it might.
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