Elizabeth Winder

Anything for Another Chance With the Spinet-Tuner

They be the nails of his
trampling foot, his
trod a light
Pod weaving
through the hedgerow.

She marks the day
on a tiny white card
not for the neiges, or
the calf that was foaled,
but that he, a Welsh
stranger. wished her
"Good luck and many years of happy playing,"
and it moved her to tears.



Frances Duncombe's Dolls Like Her

Sundays she licked oak pews
in prayer for them--
Armed with Rich Heraldry,
trained a Fine Cook for them-stretched
doll Tendons to Fret
a Viola aught envy--

Sent ten men riding
ten liveried men,
five Tailors, five Falconers
riding for them
in Blood Sport and Sallow
in Tiny Ant Valor.



My Short Silk Dress is an Herbivore
Shame glitters
split sparrow
rolled in sugar
[size Poussin
or Pom-pom]
Dirty Joy Lord
and blest.


Mercifully, the Seduction of the Poppet by the Pomander Happened in Private

No Eye Rivet,
sinew slay
            hard light
no fixed anger
            in her Rind.
I just want to
            talk to you

lying mute
with the Pomander
in mute box, rapt—

[the Pomander]
lays his little script
            into her
I just want to
            scratch your symbol

says the Pomander
shined his Eye on her
O Poppet—

            my sorrow-acre.