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8.3
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(22
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Sometimes I can almost see, around our heads,
Like gnats around a streetlight in summer,
The children we could have,
The glimmer of them.
Sometimes I feel them waiting, dozing
In some antechamber - servants, half-
Listening for the bell.
Sometimes I see them lying like love letters
In the Dead Letter Office
And sometimes, like tonight, by some black
Second sight I can feel just one of them
Standing on the edge of a cliff by the sea
In the dark, stretching its arms out
Desperately to me.
Anonymous submission.
Sharon Olds
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Read poems about / on: sometimes, summer, children, sea, dark, love, child
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Comments about this poem (The Unborn
by
Sharon Olds
) |
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Sharon Olds
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W Grace
(1/28/2009 1:01:00 AM) |
Thank you! Bill Grace
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L. K. Thayer
(12/25/2007 4:47:00 AM) |
The Dead Letter Office...striking, rich and scenic
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Perfection Is Flawed
(5/28/2006 4:23:00 AM) |
Forgotten, but not quite. A beautifully blurred portrayal of children that will never be, the desperation for the smallest sliver of life. Enjoyed.
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