The Bar of Grief by Frances Macaulay Forde

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The Bar of Grief

Upturned bottles once lined with military order
on dusty, termite-rotten shelves. Fingerprints,
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Frances Macaulay Forde

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Frances Macaulay Forde (10/3/2005 1:48:00 AM)
No, (in case anyone was wondering) I am not and never have been troubled with alcohol. In fact, I can't drink because it poisons me... but I can imagine.

Anne Leaver (10/22/2004 9:46:00 PM)
Hi Frances
Finally - time to read and write! This millenium is already too crowded!
I like the human essence that pours through objects of this poem - objects of pain and what is hoped to be forgotten. But now charge it with your own heart - but make a new poem. I suppose that's a non-criticism - a new door.
Anne