Susan Stewart

Poems by Susan Stewart

Let me tell you about my marvelous god

When I'm crying, I'm not speaking

moon at morning

  Susan Stewart

When I'm crying, I'm not speaking

Barred back from the glare
gone gripped along
the rail run down
running from or
toward no matter
no mind never
hell for leather
scraped across
night’s increment
torn from the sedge
the salvage
shorn at
the edge forlorn
forewarned
hefting waxed
breached waning
whine needling
half heard
then hearing
help wound in
the wind





From RED ROVER (University of Chicago Press, 2003)

 

 

 

 

 

 
         
    Poetry Center Readings:
    Fall 2009
     
   
     
     
     
 
 
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