Daisy Fried

(1967 / United States)

Daisy Fried Poems

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Best Poem of Daisy Fried

Seven Years

These cold days when the insane sky's clear, heat poofs away be-
yond its net of edible blue. My cat folds, flops across the laundry
steps. Flags the size of jeans pockets flip-flap affixed to rowhouse
fronts. The nicest, cleanest hands reach to switch out lights in
stores: futons, ring trays, eyeglasses, dresses, go dark. "The bed is
not very big." Cold or no there are fathers calling mothers and child-
dren walking home or out; also those of us who are neither father
nor mother and have forgotten the complicated unchosen knits and
methods of being somebody's...

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