I, Wife Poem by Elizabeth O. Slater
I, Wife
Not so much lost,
As all confined in silence,
Old and very christened.
And life is ordered
And night is sleeping
while I wait, a little cold
though I sit by the fire
Where my tortoise-shell cat
Keeps domesticity intact.
Remote to the wind,
As once I had listened.
Calm I sit,
Extremely collected,
Arranging time in my mind,
My vigil rehearsed and perfected.
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8/29/2026 11:00:05 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
