Wanda Coleman

A F O

A Stonehold

the thief has made me a gift of his night’ s booty

somewhere, a daughter discovers her mother’ s coral
brooch missing, somewhere, a man recoils at the absence
of his gambling stash. somewhere, a miser rifles
over a vanished ransom in newly minted silver

all this to buy a hotbed of memories
to feed the children fresh-killed lies
to open all the locks on love

forever is a moment we hold in our stomachs