My mother climbing into bed, me not sleeping. Death waits outside, lighting a cigarette. He glances down at a watch that has no hands. @3Soon, soon@1, he thinks, then takes another drag. Me slipping out of bed at dawn to pick up the pieces. 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 OLD SANTA FE TRAIL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE CRAFTSMAN by MARCUS B. CHRISTIAN THE STIRRUP-CUP by SIDNEY LANIER PARADISE LOST: BOOK 4 by JOHN MILTON SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: A LITANY IN TIME OF PLAGUE by THOMAS NASHE DAFFODILS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |