by Miriam Poupko
I have lost it and it will never return
I seek it at half past six in the evening
When my hair comes undone over the stovetop
Shift the stirring-spoon to the other hand
To brush it away.
Lend me your ears, mother
But only one will I spare
Coiled, I await redemption in the blare
Of the inappropriate radio.
I know it is wrong
But perhaps a song, or a line
Will help me remember what used to be mine
For I have lost it, lost it
And it may never return.
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