Late November Sunday

Rain drips cold from tree branches.
The leaves hold tight, like beggars,
to no avail, as the wind plucks them
casually into the air like laughter
of starlings fluttering quickly away.
She watches from a window wondering
who he is sleeping with tonight,
then turns toward the darkening solace
of the house with its nostalgic glissandos
raining about her like shattered glass.

(November 24, 2013)

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