Poem for Monday, May 5, 2008

For the Dead







by Adrienne Rich







I dreamed I called you on the telephone

to say: Be kinder to yourself

but you were sick and would not answer



The waste of my love goes this way

trying to save you from yourself



I have always wondered about the leftover

energy, water rushing down a hill

long after the rains have stopped



or the fire you want to go to bed from

but cannot leave, burning-down but not burnt-down

the red coals more extreme, more curious

in their flashing and dying

than you wish they were

sitting there long after midnight














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