Ruth Bavetta
Unfinished
It's too late for the crow pacing the fence.
Too late for the palings fallen and faded.
the broken concrete, pale and vacant.
Too late for the baby stroller on its back,
lying abandoned by the track.
Three bags of lily bulbs, too late to plant.
Too late for the squirrel in the street,
the whirr of tires around the curve,
the screech. Clouds piling up,
dishes unwashed, travel plans
canceled, weeds taking over
the world. Too late, too late.
Bio
Ruth Bavetta's poems have appeared in Rattle, North American Review, Nimrod, Rhino, Tar River Review, Slant, Atlanta Review and many others, and are included in several anthologies. Her books include Flour, Water, Salt and Fugitive Pigments, (FutureCycle), Embers on the Stairs (Moon Tide), and No Longer at This Address (Aldrich). She loves light of November afternoons, the music of Stravinsky and the smell of the ocean. She hates pretense, fundamentalism and sauerkraut.