She sits on the bed, breasts slack, watching a curl of dust float through a ray of sun, drift down to a corner. So brief this meeting with a strange child -- Do I want to be remembered? Only as a mare might know the body of her rider, the pressure of legs unlike any other. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. BENJAMIN PANTIER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AUTHOR TO HIS CHILD by FRANCES AIRTH POEM FOR PICTURE: TO AN OIL PAINTING BY WINSLOW HOMER (DRIFTWOOD) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. INTROSPECTION by GEORGE ARNOLD THE BITER BIT by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN A MISUNDERSTANDING (CONNEMARA) by JANE BARLOW |