1943

// Hanna Elson

A frayed    tin cup     bucket,

buckets.  A milk carton in September sun.

I hate this town.

All the animals and churches,
all your     cherished revisions.

The storm,     the stormings
the night before surgery.   Dawn
after the hail.

The little girls dragged screaming,
clutching their blankets
past the tin cup buckets,
waking the cows.