First Husband

So where did they go, those

children we never had? Some

nights eyes shine and glow worms glow in ditches.

Perhaps a little girl emerges looking for her parents,

worms

and thistles in her fists.

But you and I both know how

for years those children lived

off our bitter kisses -- nothing

to eat in the house but hatred, love, and hope, although

so many summers there was more

fruit than we could bear. A million

ripe tomatoes. The loam

porous as babies’ breath

and old ankle bones.

Yes, yes, we spent

so many summers in that braggart’s garden

deciding what to waste

and what to own

while our children starved

at home, inventing the machinery of snow.