June: a hollow woman

June: a hollow woman
Wraps in rapid rabbit leaves
Her bald daughter frail as meat,
As soft and poison-wet
In life as pondweed.
To cure some vast loneliness,
They recommend mountains.
An open window, as required;
The table, blank for scrubbing.
A sniffing blackness,
Framing jaunty lemon scents,
Collects the warmth
Dripping down from lampshades.
The sallow crowd gathers
To heave, retract, pulse.
Each ripple cherishes a sigh,
As, drawing curtains on the day
In stiff sharp strokes,
She packs herself away.