A Week Before You Die, You are Singing by Erin Elizabeth Smith
I didn't know how to take care of you.
Two months in Europe,
and the singleness of your hand,
limp in my own
is all I have learned.
The local wine has left me pink
left me with nothing
but a bathtub, gone grey,
and a vision of you,
at the 22
Singing, like a kettle.
Singing, like a gull
rapping a window with its wings.
Singing, like a sky
shawled in the last autumn cloud.
You, in the lee of September,
And I was sitting,
looking at you,
your fingers strung together like ribs
of a gamebird
being split into two.
and it's like Chattanooga in the summertime
when the lights turn into a city of spires.
You singing, and we are almost home,
Tennessee like a sneeze that won't form.
You are singing, and I am counting
krona for a tip.
Alouette, gentille Alouette.
Alouette, you sing. Je te plumerai.