April 13,2022

On Coming Back to the Country House

Everything’s the same---last year’s dry weeds

in a tangled spill, willow branches down again,

leaves and twigs scattered across the grass

just beginning to green.

Daffodils, popping up, right on time.

Upstairs, the renters’ bloodstains

on the comforter cover.

We can’t find the comforter

and Peter says they must have used it

to wrap the body.

But no; I recognize these

as menstrual stains. I’m irked,

unsure if they’ll come out and wondering

what a new cover will cost.

Secretly, I like thinking of them,

strangers to us, a young couple,

making that passionate, irrepressible love of youth

maybe saying “Wait, the sheets!”

but going ahead with everything anyway.

Young, leaving the proof

they’re still able to procreate.

Still, tomorrow I’ll spend half a day

at the Greenville laundromat

cursing them, doing what I can

to erase the evidence.