widow
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Some folks see her in the window,
just a shadow standing there.
Some folks hear her in the morning
when she sings her daily prayer,
but they’ve never really met her
and she likes it just that way.
They yank on their skates,
criss-cross the laces and
tug on my hand with stubby fingers.
The ice is thick and crusted with
white chips
Pondscum and cattails are hidden
under the marbled crust
