"Then This, From the Lost Sister"
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A morning, a weather
That wouldn't end.
The windows closed like stitches.
Fingernails grew; nothing to pick at.
The tent of our mother's body went
Wet around me and clung.
The wind tore through me.
I breathed with two split lungs.
When you left
I stayed, I shook!
Like an instrument about
To be played by the long,
Liver-yellow
Fingers of the sun
Meghan O'Rourke is Slate's culture critic and an advisory editor. She was previouisly an editor at The New Yorker. She is the author of Halflife, a book of poems.
Clickhere to visit Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project site.Please note: Because Slate's backlog of accepted poems is substantial, poetry editor Robert Pinsky will not be reading new submissions until December 2005.