a cast iron gate
leads to a square
between the fried chicken place
and Nails n’Hair

in the shadow of the city
crouched like a mouse
a ruined but pretty
old flint house

agnes in the kitchen
eyes like beads
on a wary pigeon
as we talk about needs

she mentions Clark
asleep upstairs
but gives a start
he’s been dead ten years

my sister, too
she says, bereft
what do you do
when it’s you that’s left

she shows me their history
Clark proposing
outside the registry
pouting, posing

black and white streets
fading witnesses
apartments in Greece
work-dos, Christmases

but that’s all stopped
she’s lost in the space
between a Nails n’Hair shop
and a fried chicken place