Poetry

The dead are beyond caring. But Beatrice Is not beyond caring. She is not dead. She says to Death, “You are nothing to me.” She writes it down, “I won't stay.” “I'm not old.” “This necropolis is a disgrace.” “I don't know These people. And (besides) the country is cold.” Poland of Death! Our mother…

How many times in this family rain have I wanted a sudden shelter, the phone to ring, a blanket of pines 12 feet above my head and growing up thick 50, 60 feet. No rain then would get through. But the heedless rain comes down. The wish for shelter, confused under this flood of water,…

Though we're flat on our backs at midnight under the enormous sky, I know I'm really in the Fels Planetarium in Philadelphia, where I've come with the other third graders for the Star Show. Tonight the trailing blazes of white explode across the darkness like firecrackers and my companions ooooh and point and say, Over…

1. When the day arrived I Pushed your gurney to where A noiseless orderly Pressed for an elevator To drop you down and down To the operating room. The telephone rang too soon. Returned to the hospital, We heard the exact surgeon Present a schedule: In seven months, he said, Father, you would be dead….

He's nervy, speaking through my voice while enjoying both sunshine and shade on the same safe street. Is he hiding behind that laughing tree? No. He could be farther away. A stranger approaches me on the street with a rose, let's say, or a message from someone back home. I'll accept the message or the…

     The Captain becomes moody at sea. He's afraid of water; such bully amounts that prove the seas. . .      A glass of water is one thing. A man easily downs it, capturing its menace in his bladder; pissing it away. A few drops of rain do little harm, save to remind of how grief looks…

Three old women sat knitting In front Every time I went by. Good evening, ladies, I'd say. Good morning, too, For it's a lovely day. Finding it in myself to whistle While they stared at me, The way the deaf stare, The deaf and dumb. Two of them resuming their knitting, The third still with…

Hello Sadness come out from around that door the barn door the city steel door that lock that hedge where I see you but feel you not enough to make me proper. Come, sit on my shoulder Sadness now if you're dry or reluctant I'll wet you with welcome, wear you for the weight. I've…

The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved. —Jeremiah 8:20 The morning before it happens at the rim of the field I wait for the call: the hard ground, the lull, and all around, on the verge the lit houses lie sorted and stored. And now the sound of arrowheads…