written by Adrienne RichTheir life, collapsed like unplayed cards,
is carried piecemeal through the snow;
Headboard and footboard now, the bed
where she has lain desiring him
where overhead his sleep will build
its canopy to smother her once more;
their table, by four elbows worn
evening after evening while the wax runs down;
mirrors grey with reflecting them,
bureaus coffining from the cold
things that can shuffle in a drawer,
carpets rolled up around those echoes
which, shaken out, take wing and breed
new altercations, the old silences.
Adrienne Rich
written by Adrienne Rich, published on Fri 07.09.2010 at 01:44
The clouds and the stars didn't wage this war
the brooks gave no information
written by Adrienne Rich, published on Mon 06.07.2010 at 01:48
Our whole life a translation
the permissible fibs
and now a knot of lies
eating at itself to get undone
written by Adrienne Rich, published on Mon 04.19.2010 at 15:02
1.
Sex, as they harshly call it,
I fell into this morning
at ten o'clock, a drizzling hour
of traffic and wet newspapers.
written by Adrienne Rich, published on Fri 03.12.2010 at 11:06
I know you are reading this poem
late, before leaving your office
of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window
written by Adrienne Rich, published on Sun 01.24.2010 at 09:18
In those years, people will say, we lost track
of the meaning of we, of you
we found ourselves
reduced to I
written by Adrienne Rich, published on Fri 12.04.2009 at 11:44
We can look into the stove tonight
as into a mirror, yes,
the serrated log, the yellow-blue gaseous core