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 GREAT HUNT by CARL SANDBURG TO HIS WIFE ON THE 16TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY, WITH A RING by SAMUEL BISHOP NIGHT BY THE RIVER by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II THE UNFORGIVEN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |