Listen to Lucie Brock-Broido reading this poem.
Sorrows, like a gathering of dire wolves, come in packs. To you,
I am not speaking anymore. Whom
Shall I address?
Now that you have gotten these things off
Your barrel chest, it is time for you to merge into the sobbing
Rain, like a one-room scene in Appalachia, smeared
By fog. I adored you as much as an aluminum
Bucket of storm after
A great unlovely silvered thirst. How
Nice for me. In the Pleistocene, the wild wolves roamed
In scattered sorrows over
Everywhere, prodigious in appetite, howling
At the hollow of
Everything empty like a throat coated
With the fabric of a bolt
Of red. There
TODAY IN SLATE
Meet the New Bosses
How the Republicans would run the Senate.
The Government Is Giving Millions of Dollars in Electric-Car Subsidies to the Wrong Drivers
Scotland Is Just the Beginning. Expect More Political Earthquakes in Europe.
Cheez-Its. Ritz. Triscuits.
Why all cracker names sound alike.
Friends Was the Last Purely Pleasurable Sitcom
This Whimsical Driverless Car Imagines Transportation in 2059
- Protesters Take to the Streets to Sound Alarm on Climate Change in New York, Across the World
- Knife-Carrying White House Jumper is Vet who Feared “Atmosphere Was Collapsing”
- North Korea: American Sentenced to Hard Labor Wanted to Become “Second Snowden”
- Almost One in Four Americans Support Idea of Splitting From the Union
Did America Get Fat by Drinking Diet Soda?
A high-profile study points the finger at artificial sweeteners.