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"Grandparents"

By Paul BreslinPosted Tuesday, April 11, 2006, at 6:04 AM ET

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, professor of English at Northwestern University, is the author most recently of You Are Here.
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