For The Dead

I dreamed I called you on the telephone
to say: Be kinder to yourself
but you were sick and would not answer

The waste of my love goes on this way
trying to save you from yourself

I have always wondered about the left-over
energy, the way water goes rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped

or the fire you want to go to bed from
but cannot leave, burning-down but not burnt-down
the red coals more extreme, more curious
in their flashing and dying
than you wish they were
sitting long after midnight

by Adrienne Rich

Comments (3)

If you like this you should try Endpapers, my absolute favorite by Adrienne Rich.
one day, soon...I'll be able to write like this...maybe today.
I want this poem on the little pamlets that will get handed out at my funeral. My God, it's amazing!