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Marilyn Fleming

No Use Crying

When I look at you something is different. It must have been so gradual I hardly
noticed. Perhaps it’s the way you avoid my eyes, or the jagged edge of your smile.
When you speak to me the words are dull, repetitive, stale, detached, the interest
lacking, your attention off.

You say it’s in my head, I’m bitchy sad or mad, I’m on the rag. But honest love, I
think the milk’s gone bad.

a chuff of wind
blowing under the door 
puddle of bones

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About the Author

Marilyn Fleming was born and raised on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. She attributes her special interest in Asian forms of poetry to that small slice of life where the love of nature and simple things took root and were nourished. She lives with her husband Keith in Pewaukee, Wisconsin.