I enter at dusk. The glass shakes in the bedroom. It was there we all met. Mother is dead, she is busy. Father and brother play cards. Every so often one rises to clean the bay windows. The house rests on a body of water. I enter at dusk. The glass shakes in the living room. Mother is eating stale bread. Father and brother on their knees eye the precarious water. The bottom is blue. The truth is evil and sensual. Every so often one rises. Mother is breaking the rock into sand, the sand into beaches, the beach into property. I pick up a rock. Not that, she says, anything but that. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST REDOUBT by ALFRED AUSTIN TO MY MERE ENGLISH CENSURER by BEN JONSON THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: PICTURE-WRITING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR by ROSSITER WORTHINGTON RAYMOND AGAINST IDLENESS AND MISCHIEF by ISAAC WATTS ON THE PICTURE OF LUCRETIA STABBING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES |