I give you my thanks. Perhaps
you see that in my eyes, although
the only words I have left
are no doubt cruel.

mother
tongue she was used to holding, now she uses it to say
the things she means, what God has shown her

To be a priest
is to widen your arms
to hold the great sorrow

I wrap you in a cape and snug it with a clip.
How careful I must be, rounding
your good ear with scissors, the ear
my tongue loves to kiss, apricot-sweet,
and loves, too, the bad ear and its ghosts.

Did you put him
on the canvas to get one more Jew out
of harm’s way?

I was warned by teachers and fellow artists against allowing my work to be influenced by others. But I have never really been convinced by the notion of being original.

I would like for Louise Glück to be my friend. This is a recent problem

In a passing moment at the door, Merrill captures a truth about the influence of friendship. Through the unaware examples of others, we recognize values we have been searching for in ourselves—edges or shades of the person we might become.

First we cry.
Then the tears turn to stone.
Then we remember just one thing:
The death of a son.

The nurses took off the sterile white net,
tied your hair back from your beautiful face,
and detached the machines to let you die.