Boudoir Resentment
Hands full of herbs
she cries at sunset
hearing the neighbour’s husband
has returned.
South-flying geese turned north
the day her husband left.
Today the north-flying geese
turn south.
Spring comes, autumn goes
her feelings remain.
Years come, then pass –
his messages dwindle.
Unbolting her red door each night,
she waits for no one to visit
hears through the curtains
the sound of washing clothes.
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