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"Then This, From the Lost Sister"

By Meghan O'RourkePosted Tuesday, July 19, 2005, at 8:05 AM ET

Click here to listen to Meghan O'Rourke read this poem.


When you left, a world
Came. Rain,

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

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Meghan O'Rourke is Slate's culture critic and the author of Halflife, a collection of poetry.
Click here 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.
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