Wondering what this new light is, before he died he walked across the kitchen and said, "My stomach is very cold." And this haze, yellowish, covers all this morning, meadow, orchard, woods. Something bad is happening somewhere to her. I was ashamed of her Appalachian vulgarity and vaguely askew teeth, her bad grammar, her wanting to screw more often than I. It was May wine and the night liquid with dark and fog when we stopped the car and loved to the sound of frogs in the swamp. I'm bringing to a stop all my befouled nostalgia about childhood. My eye was gored out, there was a war and my nickname was @3pig@1. There was an old house that smelled of kerosene and apples and we hugged in a dark attic, not knowing how to continue. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOST LOVE by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE TROOP SHIP by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE THREE BEST THING: 1. WORK by HENRY VAN DYKE UNDER MY WINDOW by THOMAS WESTWOOD WILL (1) by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE; SIX YEARS OLD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH LILIES: 6. MY BELOVED by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) VERSES TO HER WHO IS JUSTLY ENTITLED TO THEM by BERNARD BARTON |