What about this, after all. How does it follow? I rent a converted garage With shower curtains on a pipe To divide the room in two. I have a photograph of you Like a grave That I look into. When we still lived in Colorado, Sometimes you were happy Without meaning it. My sister is still in love with you. I live in the South. I do a job. It rains. When I let myself down, It's easy, And no one's left out. The old landlord is a real goner; I think he crossed over And forgot to die. He smells like piss and comes to say good-bye Each afternoon before his nap, And again at night. Death can be embarrassing When it's less than fatal. This morning when he came over Asking for a shave, A starling hung from the window screen, Like a convict on the fence, And looked in. Its feathers were covered with ice. I soaped the old man's jaw And the chainlike creases in his neck, And I cut him once, a little. He was alive one more time and trying For the hang of it. I know he'll die without meaning it. At dusk the starlings swarm in Like rivers of starvation. Their dry-axle noise Flows past the open door and eddies In a few trees. They mean something. They follow. They set each other off Like fire in a good wind. Well enough Is never left alone; My sister still loves you. And you must know this, too: After the flood The living started digging out. 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...A LITTLE GIRL'S PRAYER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD IN THE UNDERWORLD by ISAAC ROSENBERG TO BE CLOSELY WRITTEN ON A SMALL PIECE OF PAPER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS RESPECTABILITY by ROBERT BROWNING |