A Poet at Twenty
Images leap with him from branch to branch. His eyes
brighten, his head cocks, he pauses under a green bough,
And when I see him I want to hide him somewhere.
The other wood is past the hill. But he will enter it, and find the particular maple. He will walk through the door of the maple, and his arms will pull out of their sockets, and the blood will bubble from his mouth, his ears, his penis, and his nostrils. His body will rot. His body will dry in ropey tatters. Maybe he will grow his body again, three years later. Maybe he won't.
There is nothing to do, to keep this from happening.
It occurs to me that the greatest gentleness would put a bullet into his bright eye. And when I look in his eye, it is not his eye that I see.
Donald Hall's Other Poems
Read poems about / on: green
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Poet at Twenty by Donald Hall )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- The bee Haiku, Sambanath Denis
- The Slight And Sorry Words, Sambanath Denis
- On A Painting, Sambanath Denis
- The Day Your Mother Kept For You, mary douglas
- Leaving For Okinawa In The Morning, Kyle Schlicher
- Into Your Eyes, Spiritwind Wood
- What You Thought I Thought You Thought, Dexsta Ray
- Cactus Flower, Midnights Voice
- Sacrifice, Nassy Fesharaki
- Keep your mind wide open, Petai Jirakongpipat