Sharon Olds

(November 19, 1942 / San Francisco)

Sharon Olds Poems

1. The Knowing 4/3/2015
2. Her First Week 11/28/2014
3. My Son The Man 1/7/2015
4. Voices 11/19/2011
5. The Pact 11/19/2011
6. Still Life In Landscape 11/19/2011
7. I Could Not Tell 11/19/2011
8. Topography 11/19/2011
9. I Go Back To May 1937 11/19/2011
10. The Sash 1/13/2003
11. One Year 1/13/2003
12. A Week Later 1/13/2003
13. The Ferryer 1/20/2003
14. Take The I Out 1/20/2003
15. The Space Heater 1/13/2003
16. Crab 1/13/2003
17. The Mortal One 1/13/2003
18. Primitive 1/13/2003
19. Japanese-American Farmhouse, California, 1942 1/20/2003
20. The Daughter Goes To Camp 1/13/2003
21. The Borders 1/13/2003
22. May 1968 1/20/2003
23. The End 1/13/2003
24. The Clasp 1/13/2003
25. 1954 1/13/2003
26. The Victims 1/7/2004
27. The Unborn 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Sharon Olds

The Unborn

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.

Read the full of The Unborn

The Space Heater

On the then-below-zero day, it was on,
near the patients' chair, the old heater
kept by the analyst's couch, at the end,
like the infant's headstone that was added near the foot
of my father's grave. And it was hot, with the almost
laughing satire of a fire's heat,
the little coils like hairs in Hell.
And it was making a group of sick noises-
I wanted the doctor to turn it off

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