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For Lucy

Varicose veins
and toothless mile.
I remember you.

Driving to work on a rainy day,
looking at life between wiper swipes.
Rearview mirror
reflecting my white starched uniform,

net binding my hair.

Lucy bawls a querulous greeting. Bill Link, Jr.
Tie on an apron
Fumble in the cold dark. To Last
Lettuce. Endive.
Tomatoes are always in the back. We pounded them in to last
the nails
Day going by in a smear
(growing like seeds in a raindrop) but the soft wood of our roof
We slice tomatoes for the salad bar. begins to breathe its nails outwards
Juice stings into cuts on my hands.
in the salt-sea mists
Tomatoes remind me of you, Lucy, magic mushrooms the nails
Caustic voice like acid.
notes of a xylophone
Two bowlfuls; three refills (four on a busy night) spheres
That's all you need to know
(chop) Emilie Glen

Then you
(chop)

do your best
(chop)

not to think.

The kitchen fan mutters to itself.

Humble than wise, Lucy works awhile in silence
Then cracks a dirty joke
to Wild Bill the pot scrubber,
talking around a mouthful of
snitched chips.
Her racous guffaw

sends a spray of chip crumbs across the counter.

In the midst of my anxious idealism,
Lucy stands in a matter-of-fact
crisp white dress
with yellow underarm stains.

Dear, homely Lucy.

I remember you.

Karen Knecht

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