What will she do today? – a poem by Meg Freer

What will she do today?
for Jennifer A.


Her house has no bones,
no room for a hand dragged over skin
or the kiss crass and sharp.

She feels kind today, helps clear away
residual calculus on night’s edges,
travels sunwise as shoulders read
the world. She fuels jazz on a porch
with a purple bench, leaves a margin
for the elastic recoil of riches
unfurled by eastern cloud-flow.

She inhales primary colors,
exhales secondary hues of violet,
marigold, tangerine, emerald.
Sometimes audible, sometimes private
—breath—
always the main character.


Meg Freer grew up in Montana and lives in Kingston, Ontario. She has worked as an editor and currently teaches piano. She enjoys taking photos and being active outdoors year-round. Her writing has been published in anthologies and various journals such as Vallum, Arc Poetry, and Sunlight Press.

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