Menu

Poetry

The thing I did for sorrow was silence.
The thing I did for sorrow,
the thing I did,
the silence.

I thought when replacing the pillow
under the sleeping girl’s head
it’s been a while
since kindness.

When my mother was sick
I didn’t go
I rolled over in my own bed
I thought she wanted

to be alone,
alone how I like to be
to keep my misery.
There’s not much overlap

in what we understand,
no guard against unloving
sticks piled up, the thatched
huts, my ingratitude.

 


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

Prayer to the Holy Louse

By

Jerzy Ficowski

Kestrel

By

John F. Deane

the fuzzy and blurry insides of a living room, featuring a warm wood bookshelf filled in the upper shelves with books, a floor lamp, the top of a chair, and a wall with one large framed photo and three smaller framed photos.

Fall

By

Lia Purpura

close up image of pink yellow and orange roses.

The Cloak of the Saint

By

Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore

Pin It on Pinterest