poem: A weekly poem, read by the author.

"Losing My Hair"


Listen to Wesley McNair read this poem.


In the old allegory of the wolves
chasing the dog sled across
the tundra in the waning
light of life, I myself
am suddenly the aging man

who must reach inside his chest
to find some failed organ
that might appease them,
though all I have now
to throw over my shoulder

is this small offering that lifts
in the wind when I turn back,
flying apart so high above them
it has nothing to do
with the gathering dark

of their bodies, and their swift
legs that barely touch the snow,
and their cold, patient eyes.

Print This ArticlePRINTDiscuss this in The FrayDISCUSSEmail to a FriendE-MAIL
Share on FacebookPost to MySpace!Share with MixxDigg ThisShare with RedditShare with del.icio.usShare with FurlShare with Ma.gnolia.comShare with SphereShare with Stumble Upon
Wesley McNair's most recent book is The Ghosts of You and Me.
For Slate's poetry submission guidelines, click here.

Click
here to visit Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project site.

Click here for an archive of "Poet's Choice" columns from the Washington Post.
Join the Fray: our reader discussion forum
What did you think of this article?
POST A MESSAGE | READ MESSAGES








Washington Post