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Blizzard Bacchanal
As if the earth were to go on and on forever another four inch layer of snow silently covers time and space out the…
While my wife was massaging my sore
right arm in bed I suddenly
saw the Civil War soldiers in the
hospital Whitman used to visit
and how they didn’t know who he
was or who he would be or
that he’d written Leaves of Grass
but only that he wrote letters home for them
and wiped their brows with cold cloths or
leaned close to them to hear their
whispered words and leaned close with his
sky blue eyes and pink face to
kiss their beards
and gaze long at them and
hold their hands while they
died
8/3/2008 (from Sparks Off the Main Strike)
Categories: Poems