Issue Three

Spring 2012


On Offering the Loan of an 1886 Edition of Mrs. Browning’s Poetical Works

A friend of mine steps back, complains
about my dusty book, maintains
it’s full of germs and mildew.  Who
she says, would risk disease?  Screw
Aurora Leigh.  She squirms, restrains

herself from saying more and cranes
her neck away from coffee stains
and scribbles on page fifty-two.
A friend of mine

agrees that each old book regains
the errant note, that touch sustains
in chocolate fingerprints, a clue
that we’re of one like mind, and through
these battered pages she remains
a friend of mine.




Marybeth Rua-Larsen

silver fractal