VERSE:
Jr, John Nixon
JOHN NIXON, JR. THE FORGETTER She has forgotten now that humming birds Below the bridal suite once made for her A phallic music in the trumpet flowers. What fragile year it was, what sorry April...
...Diminishing her world, she can't recall...
...As for the fledglings and their number and What mates they took-such coveys of statistics Are much too Buttery to manage now...
...What fragile year it was, what sorry April When shards of innocence, like bluebirds, fell...
...The aviary, she observes, is empty Save for one wintry owl, white as amnesia, Staring at her, waiting to be forgotten...
Vol. 102 • July 1975 • No. 8
