Erica Jong

(26 March 1942 / New York City)

Erica Jong Poems

121. Nobody Believes 3/28/2012
122. The Dirty Laundry Poem 3/28/2012
123. Knives 3/28/2012
124. A Reading 3/28/2012
125. Total Eclipse 3/28/2012
126. Another Language 3/28/2012
127. At The Museum Of Natural History 3/28/2012
128. At The Edge Of The Body 3/28/2012
129. Blood & Honey 3/28/2012
130. For All Those Who Died 3/28/2012
131. Becoming A Nun 3/28/2012
132. Continental Divide 3/28/2012
133. Birthdays 3/28/2012
134. Alcestis On The Poetry Circuit 3/28/2012
135. Aura 3/28/2012
136. Books 3/28/2012
137. Because I Would Not Admit 3/28/2012
138. The Central Passion 3/28/2012
139. The Artist As An Old Man 1/3/2003
140. Narcissus, Photographer 1/3/2003
141. January In New York 3/28/2012
142. The Poet Fears Failure 1/3/2003
143. For An Earth-Landing 1/3/2003
144. Henry James In The Heart Of The City 1/3/2003
145. Baby Witch 3/28/2012
146. Colder 1/3/2003
147. To My Brother Poet, Seeking Peace 1/3/2003
148. Middle Aged Lovers, Ii 1/3/2003
149. To Whom It May Concern 1/3/2003
150. People Who Live 1/3/2003
151. The End Of The World 1/3/2003
152. Ordinary Miracles 1/3/2003
153. Parable Of The Four-Poster 1/3/2003
154. Dear Colette 1/3/2003
155. Autumn Perspective 1/3/2003
156. Smoke 1/3/2003
157. Autobiographical 1/3/2003
158. We Learned 1/3/2003
159. The Poem Cat 1/3/2003
160. Flying At Forty 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Erica Jong

After The Earthquake

After the first astounding rush,
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .

After the tangos in the kitchen,
& our eyes fixed on each other at dinner,
as if we would eat with our lids,
as if we would swallow each other. . .

I find you still
here beside me in bed,
(while my pen scratches the pad
& your skin glows as you read)
& my whole life so mellowed & changed

that at times I cannot remember
the crimp in my heart that ...

Read the full of After The Earthquake

To Whom It May Concern

In Autumn,
as in Spring,
the sap flows,
the sap wishes to race
against heartbeats
before the winter,
before the winter
buries us
in her usual shroud of ice.

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