|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
User Rating:
|
|
8.7
/10
(3 votes)
|
|
|
|
| |
I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.
I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.
I wanted her life to be like a play
In which all the parts are sad parts.
Does a good person
Think this way? I deserve
Credit for my courage--
I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me:
If your wife wouldn't let you go
That proved she didn't love you.
If she loved you
Wouldn't she want you to be happy?
I think now
If I felt less I would be
A better person. I was
A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.
I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus--
In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on
Is moving away. With one hand
She's waving; the other strokes
An egg carton full of babies.
The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.
Louise Gluck
| Submitted Date |
: |
Thursday, January 01, 2004 |
|
|
Read poems about / on: courage, dream, dark, woman, sad, happy, night, baby, women
|
|
 |
|
|
|
Comments about this poem (Siren
by
Louise Gluck
) |
|
|
pssive Wnker (2/28/2008 12:46:00 AM)
|
|
|
|
Does the dream rescue the miss-stressed though? This appears as a courageous write...
|
|
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
|
Poets
