So many ways
Within the dandelion-blown passages of time
Of not knowing
Her face
Buried against the innocent
Peach-blossomed cheeks of
her daughter sleeping
He leaves at seven-forty
Freshly suited
With briefcase, laptop
and mobile phone
Housework and talkback
Somewhere the faint cadences
of Puccini are lingering
She composes lists for him, for her,
to do, to buy, to mend; crossed exultantly,
Infinite lists
The erroneous, unjustifiable bank statements
Must be
Symptomatic of her mathematical inadequacy
Her friends
Appear faithfully
Midday, channel four
Honeyed caramels
Liquid sweetfire melting
on her tongue
Another hangup
The malevolent phone
guards its secrets
Halfway through a list
She sketches wild irises
in a meadow blooming
He returns at six
Necktie loosened
With briefcase, newspaper
And heavy aftershave
Across the table
Steam rises from her home-baked bread
Like breath in winter
So many ways to know
that
She never knew
Josephine Collett
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-knowing-15/
