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User Rating:
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9.9
/10
(12 votes)
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She woke me up at dawn,
her suitcase like a little brown dog at her heels.
I sat up and looked out the window
at the snow falling in the stand of blackjack trees.
A bus ticket in her hand.
Then she brought something black up to her mouth,
a plum I thought, but it was an asthma inhaler.
I reached under the bed for my menthols
and she asked if I ever thought of cancer.
Yes, I said, but always as a tree way up ahead
in the distance where it doesn't matter
And I suppose a dead soul must look back at that tree,
so far behind his wagon where it also doesn't matter.
except as a memory of rest or water.
Though to believe any of that, I thought,
you have to accept the premise
that she woke me up at all.
David Berman
| Submitted Date |
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Monday, January 13, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: dog, tree, memory, believe, snow, water
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Comments about this poem (Imagining Defeat
by
David Berman
) |
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Ryan Freeley (3/4/2007 8:57:00 PM)
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this is one of my favorite poems
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