Phoebe, pill like Penelope
Bones as hard as rock and roll, store
Phoebe, physician like Penelope, waits.
Not a spider,
Not a crow,
But a bivalve.
Once she starts to weave this story,
There’s no turning back,
Whether he comes through a door,
Whether there is mud on his boots,
Whether he leaves glove-smudge or fingerprints,
Whether he carries a gun.
Phoebe carries hers like a pearl.