The Uselessness Of Want

You seem eager
to be gone, my dear
mother; shrunk
upon the pillow, your

anemic swirl of hair
twists to a dying curl,
curiously mouthing
the inarticulate word

the sentence done:
as if you were an acquaintance
hurt into further distance,
your soul pointedly surprised.

©Dean Baker

for my mother August 23, 1912 – October 15, 1978

first published in Jewish Dialog

********..from a review…”Rabelais and Hieronymus Bosch look out of dark chinks in these poems… instead of Emerson’s “Whim” above Dean’s lintel we might assume “Melancholy” resides here… that dark brooding that laughs below, and rises through the bones to jerk you awake from your too lazy sleep of existence.”***********

©All Rights Reserved

latest e-books Shadow Boxing The Infinite

https:// Phantoms Of The Northern Forests Steel Butterflies The New Poetry Hotel

©Dean Baker

©All Rights Reserved


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