(16 May 1929 – 27 March 2012 / Baltimore, Maryland)

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

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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!