The PredictionMark Strand
That night the moon drifted over the pond,
turning the water to milk, and under
the boughs of the trees, the blue trees
a young woman walked, and for an instantthe future came to her:rain falling on her husband’s grave, rain fallingon the lawns of her children, her own mouthfilling with cold air, strangers moving into her housea man in her room writing a poem, the moon drifting into it,a woman strolling under its trees, thinking of death,thinking of him thinking of her, and the wind risiingand taking the moon and leaving the paper dark.(1937)
There’s Only One Gift I Need. We Can Afford It, But My Husband Outright
Refuses.
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This is unfair.
52 minutes ago

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