2 Poems by
Patricia
Wellingham-Jones
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A BUNCH OF BULL
The aging red bull
jumped over the fence,
heedless of the barbed wire under
his dangling appendage,
lured by the enticing perfume
of the neighbor's two black
heifers, newly arrived at the
season of sexual longing.
It caused quite a road jam,
insistent keeper,
insistent bull.
That same morning
my friend's husband appeared
in his new red convertible,
threw shirts and underwear
in a case (left the dirties behind),
packed his blood pressure pills
and his vodka and left in those
fine leather seats smelling
faintly of perfume.
When the shock wore off
she dialed her lawyer,
insistent keeper,
insistent bull.
ONE PANEL OF A QUILT
The AIDS Memorial Quilt contains 44,000 panels so far. It sends messages
of remembrance and hope and is seen annually at thousands of displays
around the world.
I watch your mother
bustle about the room,
fluff pillows, smooth
the afghan she made for your
first college dorm. Hands busy
so her eyes won't overflow.
She slides nourishing drinks
in rich hues of ripe fruits
into a mouth too sore to swallow.
Your friend visits almost daily.
Hot tears rain on white knuckles
clutching the footboard.
I sit like a quiet mouse
in a corner of your room,
snip and sew, search for the colors
you whisper from the bed.
We work together
on this summing up of a life.
I take my time assembling
the panel with your name, fear
that my final stitch
will signal
your last breath.
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