Roy Herndon Smith
for Mary
Under the withered
leaves of the plane trees, she walks
slowly, hunched over.
Silent leaves flicker,
dull green, yellow, brown, holey.
Blotchy white and grey
slender limbs stretch long
and straight and angle with
elegant slight curves.
White hair in a neat
bun, in a business jacket
and brown skirt, she stops
by the clear bags of
recyclables. Branches reach
up to faint blue streaks
in the milky sky.
Boughs hold it all in pieces.
She reaches down and
searches through the bags.
She straightens, turns, and walks on.
Her hands are empty.
dust 