Friday, January 10, 2014

words to remember

RIP, Amiri Baraka. One of your first poems has remained one of my favorites.




Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note
Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus...


Things have come to that.

 

And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.

 

Nobody sings anymore.
 

And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter's room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there...
Only she on her knees, peeking into

 

Her own clasped hands

 
photo via biography.com
poem via University of Illinois

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