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Monday, May 28, 2012

American Ghazal - by Sheila Murphy

One Hundred Sixty-Second

Lilies, like yourself, live where they are known,
and tangibly, the elements upon them.

Racks of how-to books explain how to locate
one to love, then how to love and to possess.

Wind tonight means temperatures will not reach ninety-one.
People have left town, and dry heat offers quiet.

A one-year old is scheduled to arrive at our front door.
She climbs into cupboards and filing cabinets.

When my aunt died, among her possessions were multiple
wallets, purses, pairs of gloves, and watches she had won.

Sheila E. Murphy

Friend and US poet - Hyper-productive and experimental.

Much more about her and her work can be found at

1 comment:

Randolph said...

Lovely music throughout this poem. In line 8 I can hear the child clattering about the cupboards etc. The closing phrase is remarkably uplifting. Magical.