Not to Be Dwelled On Poem by Heather McHugh
Not to Be Dwelled On
Self-interest cropped up even there,
the day I hoisted three instead of the
two called-for
spades of loam onto
the coffin of my friend.
Why shovel more than anybody else?
What did I think I'd prove? More love
(mud in her eye)? More will to work
(her father what, a shirker?) Christ,
I'd give an arm or leg
to get that spoonful back.
She cannot die again;
and I do nothing but relive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 6:47:54 PM # 1.0.0.1119
