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"Grandparents"

Click here to listen to Paul Breslin read this poem.

Four squat dolmens; flints Where you wanted eyes.

You'll find no village—
They've driven the neighbors out.

With hoarded tears
They've salted the plain

Sterile to flowers
And fruit-bearing trees.

Among their bequests:
A sealed box, dense

As a brick of osmium,
Placed on the chest in sleep

As a charm against nightmare.
(It asphyxiates dreams.)

 
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Paul Breslin is professor of English at Northwestern University and the author of You Are Here.

For Slate's poetry submission guidelines, click spacerhereyeshyperlinkPoetry SubmissionsSlate reads new poems from Oct. 1 to April 30. Manuscripts sent between May 1 and Sept. 30 will not be considered.To submit poems: Send, as a single attached document, up to three poems of no more than 50 lines each to editors@slatepoems.com. Use the poet's name for the subject line of the e-mail and for the title of the attachment. We prefer Word documents (.doc or .docx) to PDFs.Please include a brief, professional cover letter, including publication history, in the body of your email. Please limit submissions to one per poet per annual reading period. Simultaneous submissions are OK. Slate no longer accepts poetry submissions by mail. The email address editors@slatepoems.com is for poetry submissions only (or to notify editors of acceptance elsewhere of a poem under consideration at Slate). Other inquiries, etc., will not be addressed.10000false220061444537PMWednesdayJanJanuary161/4/2006 9:45:37 PM63271989937000000020061444537PMWednesdayJanJanuary161/4/2006 9:45:37 PM632719899370000000.Clickhere to visit Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project site.