Sharon Olds

(November 19, 1942 / San Francisco)

Sharon Olds Poems

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

The first ones were attached to my dress
at the waist, one on either side,
right at the point where hands could clasp you and
pick you up, as if you were a hot
squeeze bottle of tree syrup, and the
sashes that emerged like axil buds from the
angles of the waist were used to play horses, that
racing across the cement while someone
held your reins and you could feel your flesh

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