To
night
I
ad
mit
he
can
no
lon
ger
read
all
the
while
he
sits
at
the
ta
ble
bent
o
ver
his
pa
per
pois-ed
to
read
I ask him:
What's happening?
The words won't to my cortex,
he says.
Stick?
Yes, stick.
The
wor
ds
wo
n't
sti
ck
to
my
cor
tex
swee
har
t.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Esther,
I cried when I read "sweehart".
This week's Writer's Almanac had a poem by Heather McHugh (Thursday, August 11.) In it she uses line breaks to add emphasis to her poem like you did in this poem. The first stanza ends in the middle of the line, "But now that I" which makes the new phase of her life in the second stanza stand out even more.
Barbara
my father taught at Harvard. He was a scientist. a great one. my father can barely read now, due to the surgeries and radiation and chemo. His speech is fragmented. It makes me cry all the time.
As I read what you have written about Abe, in my mind's eye I see my father. I can almost pinpoint the day that written word, thoughts and memories wouldn't "stick to his cortex".
Deborah Uetz
author of Into the Mist
Post a Comment