The Wedge

When there were two of us
there was one world

and one moon. When you
died, I was alone

in another world
whose two moons

of grief and rage
wax and wane

in the starless sky.
By their light,

all I eat becomes
ashes on my tongue.

Now I can't stand
to be touched

or to see anyone
touching. When I find

lovers, I set
this wedge between them:

love is no use,
though lovers are used;

who seeks to soothe
will only bruise.

PRINTE-MAILRECOMMEND...RSS

FacebookMySpace Mixx Digg Reddit del.icio.us Furl Ma.gnolia SphereStumbleUponCLOSE

SPONSORED CONTENT

• "Dead Mother"
  A weekly poem, read by the author.
  Henri Cole | Dec. 8, 2009
• The Slate Poetry Podcast
  Your favorite poets read their work to you.
  Dec. 8, 2009
• Always With the Complaining!
  Meet Ben Jonson and Robert Herrick, poetry's most artful kvetches.
  Robert Pinsky | Dec. 1, 2009
• Search for more Poems articles
• Subscribe to the Poems RSS feed
• View our complete Poems archive