Linda Gregerson

If faith is a tree that sorrow grows
and women, repentant or not, are swamps,

a man who comes for solace here
will be up to his knees and slow

getting out. A name can turn on anyone.
But say that a woman washes the dust

from a stranger’ s feet
and sits quite dry-eyed in front

of her mirror at night.
The candle flame moves with her breath, as does