This is for you, with your umbrella, Your suitcase stuffed with roadmaps, And the fatal blouse unbuttoned. This is not for your precarious bedroom. I couldn't help but notice As several of your possessions assumed false identities: The clock, for instance, And your mother's portrait. I couldn't keep my eyes off that space between your breasts, A tract of liberated ground. And later, when the bed sank Like an earthen raft in the middle of a field, well... Just the same, This is for that night your body was neither here nor there. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOT SIX DIFFERENCES by MARVIN BELL WITH CHAOS IN EACH KISS by TIMOTHY LIU THE POOR by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE TWO SAYINGS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A PSALM OF LIFE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE DESERTED HOUSE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE BROOK: SPRING by LAURA ABELL |