Did Not Come Back
In the roan hour between then & then again, the now, in the Babel Of a sorrel ship gone horizontal to a prow of night, the breach of owls Abducted by broad light, but blind, in the crime, the titanesque of rare Assault—we who have come back—petitioning, from the chair Electric with bad news, from the stunning, from the narrows Of an evening gall, from the mooring of an hour slanted on the follow Bow, she rose from a bed of Ireland like a flyted trout, a shiny Marvel on the sailor's deck, an apologia—divining— As once, as at a salted empire port, he washed Her fleeted body & they lied, the best of them, the cream & crush Of this, the madrigal & sacrifice of that, the best of them, The slowest velvet suffocation of their kind, did not come Whittled back by autumn, at an hour between thorn & chaff, Not come riddled with oblivion, the crossing & a shepherd's staff, The moment between Have & Shall Not Want, we who have salt Always know, that we who have—the best of us—did not come back.
From The Master Letters by Lucie Brock-Broido, published by Alfred A. Knopf. Copyright © 1997 by Lucie Brock-Broido. Reprinted by permission of the the publisher and author. All rights reserved.
Lucie Brock-Broido served for many years as the director of poetry in the writing division of Columbia University's School of the Arts.
Date Published: 1997-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/did-not-come-back