Losing You
Winter, the woods
Empty; the axe
Sunk in a stump;
Its thud a sob
Startling the sleep
Of the dreamer
Waking, calling
Where am I? Who
Is there?
New Brunswick Station, 12:37 p.m.
Getting out of a habit of sadness—
It would be
Like climbing off a train
At a station which was, apparently,
Your destination—
You'd get off and watch it pull away, watch
The other people watch back
Watch it disappear, and then
Turn toward the street,
Take the first step.
04.18.13
for poem in your pocket day 2013, i'm carrying two pieces by diane wood middlebrook, a favorite teacher.
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2 comments:
Losing You has been in my head since you posted this. I'm so glad I can finally tell you this.
I guess I could have emailed. doh.
i'm so glad you can finally tell me this! she was a pistol, was DWM. she would have liked your haiku.
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