THE WOMAN WHO WROTE
TOO MUCH

by Kay Ryan

I have written
over the doors
of the various
houses and stores
where friends
and supplies were.

Now I can’t
locate them anymore
and must shout
general appeals
in the street.

It is a miracle
to me now—
when a piece
of the structure unseals

and there is a dear one,
coming out,
with something
for me to eat.