My second published poem

ed rosenthal
February 2, 2015

FromĀ  Copperfield's Literary Magazine, June 1992

(you can find the first here)

Moody House: Winter 1971

From the window of my grandparents' room,
I see an empty, defenseless beach
Exposing itself at the edge of town.
From time to time, the ocean smacks its lips
And licks another layer off.

The room is square, and its walls
Are without pictures, or other signs of life.
Near the closet, an unmade desk
Is littered with neglected work.
I sit on the bed; I am alone.

My Grandfather walks the endless halls.
His silver hair, once rich and full, is falling now."
Dandruff fkecks the shoulders of his suit.
Now shiny, and shapeless and hitched in the back.
And no one comes to brush him clean,

Not far away, and yet, cut off,
My Grandmother lies in a hospital crib
With metal bars to stop her falling out.
She stares at the stumps that once were feet,
And waits for the rest to follow.

A blog about all the arts, including politics
"for 'twere absurd to think that nature in the earth bred gold, perfect in the instant;
there must be remote matter." - Ben Jonson
"I don't know what the question is, but art is the answer." - Guy Conner

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