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...THE MARMOZET by HILAIRE BELLOC THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH A SONG OF COURAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 3. TEESTAY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON READING WHITMAN IN A TOILET STALL by TIMOTHY LIU THE BOOK OF STONES AND LILIES by AMY LOWELL |