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.

Related Poetry

Sometimes a Prayer

By

Luci Shaw

Take These Words

By

Luci Shaw

Sentimentalist

By

Colin Cheney

Kestrel

By

John F. Deane

Welcome to Image. 

We curate content just for you. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter ImageUpdate for free.


Pin It on Pinterest