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Sharon Olds - A Week Later

2014-11-07 313 Dailymotion

A week later, I said to a friend: I don't <br />think I could ever write about it. <br />Maybe in a year I could write something. <br />There is something in me maybe someday <br />to be written; now it is folded, and folded, <br />and folded, like a note in school. And in my dream <br />someone was playing jacks, and in the air there was a <br />huge, thrown, tilted jack <br />on fire. And when I woke up, I found myself <br />counting the days since I had last seen <br />my husband-only two years, and some weeks, <br />and hours. We had signed the papers and come down to the <br />ground floor of the Chrysler Building, <br />the intact beauty of its lobby around us <br />like a king's tomb, on the ceiling the little <br />painted plane, in the mural, flying. And it <br />entered my strictured heart, this morning, <br />slightly, shyly as if warily, <br />untamed, a greater sense of the sweetness <br />and plenty of his ongoing life, <br />unknown to me, unseen by me, <br />unheard, untouched-but known, seen, <br />heard, touched. And it came to me, <br />for moments at a time, moment after moment, <br />to be glad for him that he is with the one <br />he feels was meant for him. And I thought of my <br />mother, minutes from her death, eighty-five <br />years from her birth, the almost warbler <br />bones of her shoulder under my hand, the <br />eggshell skull, as she lay in some peace <br />in the clean sheets, and I could tell her the best <br />of my poor, partial love, I could sing her <br />out with it, I saw the luck <br />and luxury of that hour. <br /> <br /> <br />Anonymous submission.<br /><br />Sharon Olds<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-week-later/

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