Menu

Poetry

Some small bone in your foot is longing for heaven
                          —Robert Bly

This twinge at first stir
too modest for throb,
more diffident
than tug,
not an itch,
not the most
incurious twitch
of a hook,
not a jerk,
but the tease
of brustle
of the fine, stiff pinions
of every curtained
saint and cherub.


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

Naming the Thirst

By

Alicia Ostriker

A Death in Sicily

By

Philip Levine

Fire in Freedom

By

Pattiann Rogers

Absence Blooming

By

Kristin George Bagdanov

Pin It on Pinterest