THREE POEMS

The Fault

one morning on her way the wife felt something
nipping at her ankle. She bent to the dirt path
through the dry grass between her husband’s
house and the city where she once lived. And
there it was, a little fault, all alone and nippy.
Whose fault are you, little one, she asked,
but the fault just began to cry. She stood there
waiting but no one came to claim it. So she
picked it up and put it in the basket of her
bike. All day, through the city, no one had
lost the fault, no one was looking for it. When
the husband came home she said I have found
your fault. You dropped it on the way to the public

transport. No, no, said the husband. This isn’tmy fault. I am afraid it is your fault. Youdropped it when you were shakingout the table cloths or else attemptingto accidentally break the faux crystalpitcher made of plastic my mother gave usfor our beautiful new home by pretendingto drop it. But as it was plastic, it onlypretended to break. This is surely your fault.No, it is not my fault, said the wife. Perhapsit is your mother’s fault, perhaps she left itwith the faux crystal pitcher? But it was nothis mother’s fault nor was it his father’s fault,for his father had not brought his fault