{"id":947,"date":"2010-11-05T16:35:13","date_gmt":"2010-11-05T16:35:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/"},"modified":"2010-11-05T16:35:13","modified_gmt":"2010-11-05T16:35:13","slug":"joyce-swing-goodlatte-1110","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/joyce-swing-goodlatte-1110\/","title":{"rendered":"Joyce Swing Goodlatte, 11\/10"},"content":{"rendered":"

Eleven in the morning<\/strong><\/p>\n

Radio voices float in the air.
\nShe wanders through
\nthe living room, waters a plant.<\/p>\n

She rubs soap over her hands
\nlooks at the suds,
\nfeels the cool water.
\nFullness in her throat,<\/p>\n

pressure in the chest
\nrestless, robbed,
\nrudderless.<\/p>\n

She runs the water hot,
\nhigh in the bathtub
\nlowers herself in,<\/p>\n

almost too hot.
\nHe liked showers too hot.<\/p>\n

She settles into it,<\/p>\n

finds his razor,
\nhis shaving cream.
\nFirst on her legs
\nthen her armpits
\nand then softly, slowly
\nthe edges of her pubic hair.<\/p>\n

She lingers in the shaving cream
\nsmell. His razor against her skin.
\nHe used this razor the last time
\nand then pressed his face against
\nher, a hint of a prickle on her vulva.<\/p>\n

October 1940 <\/strong><\/p>\n

Her coat lay folded, hands resting
\non the New York Times, her gaze
\nunfocused out the train\u2019s window.<\/p>\n

In the late October gloom
\nshe unfolded her scarf
\npulled it around her neck
\nput on the black wool coat
\nand buttoned up the front,
\nwalked up Eighth Avenue
\nleaves yellowing dropped to the ground.<\/p>\n

At the apartment building entrance
\nshe wrote in clear lettering
\non the back of an envelope
\nplaced it on the banister edge
\nwalked up the dark stairwell to the third
\nfloor. The walls echoed her footsteps.<\/p>\n

Three days ago she wrote:<\/p>\n

My mind resembles Flanders Fields
\nall strewn with warring impulses.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The brief sound of the key in the lock
\nand then the empty apartment
\nno longer hers\u2014
\nher piano, her letters in storage,
\nthe rest: the couch, a few chairs, silverware
\n(except for the Navajo spoon)
\nall picked up by Goodwill.<\/p>\n

She lingered by the latched window<\/p>\n

turned back to the kitchen
\nwhere she turned on
\nthe oven and all four burners,
\nsat down.<\/p>\n

Joyce Swing Goodlatte<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Eleven in the morning Radio voices float in the air. She wanders through the living room, waters a plant. She rubs soap over her hands looks at the suds, feels the cool water. Fullness in her throat, pressure in the chest restless, robbed, rudderless. She runs the water hot, high in the bathtub lowers herself […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-947","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nJoyce Swing Goodlatte, 11\/10 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/joyce-swing-goodlatte-1110\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Joyce Swing Goodlatte, 11\/10 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Eleven in the morning Radio voices float in the air. She wanders through the living room, waters a plant. 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