: The Glove :

an excerpt by Ron De Maris

on the door

that will not open
to the room
where no one lives

the glove is turning the knob

the glove is stitching
the wall of its tomb
with thread from people’s dreams

the glove is tracing
a red line with a red hand
in the shape of a glove

the glove is the caress
of your lover
after you’ve said goodbye

the glove is folded
over the head of a mannequin
in a painting by DeChirico

it is the grip of the plumber
who plumbs
your soul and finds
only another glove

the glove is the gentleman
who greets you
in dress shoes

holding a corsage

the glove lies quietly
on a landfill
knowing itself
as only a glove