"Elegy," Ann Townsend

His hand, speckled and freckled
like an Irish trout, I wish
I could draw them. The nape of his neck,
hairless, mild. Whatever his smell,
that's gone now, too. Better perhaps
to count all the plates of eggs and toast
he ate at the New Orleans Riverbend--
that restaurant now defunct.
The waitress knew he did not favor grits.
She brought them anyway, in their own
ceramic bowl, with a pat of butter
wetly yellowing at the top.
What kind of love can only remember the menu?
It was years he pushed that bowl away.

From The Coronary Garden.

Ann Townsend was a Beatrice guest author recently, discussing her affinity with John Clare. Two other poems from this collection, "As for Men" and "Mouse's Nest," appeared in Ploughshares in 2003, while "Old-Fashioned Kissing" was published in Five Points last year. In 2001, she wrote briefly about poetry as storytelling and singing.