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...CONTRA MORTEM: THE GREAT DEATH by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE WATER by HAYDEN CARRUTH LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST DESTINY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PEACE (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |