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Crossword
by Sally Bliumis-Dunn
The white and black squares
promise order
in the morning mess
of mulling over
the latest political morass,
what's on sale at Kohl's,
the book review.
Each letter, shared,
which lifts away
some sheen of loneliness I
can't quite explain.
This week, "arsenic" and "forsythia"
are joined by their i's
like long-estranged cousins.
And when they ask
for the French equivalent of sky,
I'm back on a wooden chair
in Madame Baumlin's
eighth-grade class, passing
a note to David, having
no idea, as my hand grazes his,
that he will drown sailing
that next summer.
I like doing the crossword
with my husband —
Source of support,
three letters.
I'm the one who guesses it,
glad he doesn't think
of " bra" in this way.
The puzzle rests
on the counter all week.
I like coming back,
looking at the same clue
I found insolvable
the day before, my mind
often a mystery to me,
turning corners when I sleep
or am upstairs folding clothes.
They get added to pounds.
Yesterday I thought
it had to do with money or meat;
now I can see the chain-link fence
at the local animal shelter.
Of course. "Strays"
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