Find and share the perfect poems.
1 No, I don't know the way to get there. Two empty suitcases sit in the corner, if that's any kind of clue. 2 This spring night, everyone at the party younger than me except for one man. We give each other the secret password. 3 Tears? Of course, but also the marsh grass near the Mississippi: your whispers and mine, and the dog's long contented sighs.
Copyright © 2011 by Jim Moore. Reprinted from Invisible Strings with the permission of Graywolf Press.
Sometimes I just sit like this at the window and watch
the darkness come. If I’m smart, I’ll put on Bach.
I’m thinking now of how far it always seems there is to go.
Maybe it is too easy that I speak so often
of late last light on a December day,
of that stubborn grass that somehow still remains green
1
At first when you leave town,
the dog and I maintain dignified silence.
After no more than two hours
I’m talking to her, after three
she’s telling me the story of her life.
I nod my head at every word,
encouraging her
to take all the time she needs
2
I have the vice
1
I remember my mother toward the end,
folding the tablecloth after dinner
so carefully,
as if it were the flag
of a country that no longer existed,
but once had ruled the world.
2
7 A.M. and the barefoot man
leaves his lover's house
to go back to his basement room
across the alley. I nod hello,
continuing to pick
the first small daffodils
which just yesterday began to bloom.
3
Helicopter flies overhead