Thursday

Thursday

I have had my dream--like others--

and it has come to nothing, so that

I remain now carelessly

with feet planted on the ground

and look up at the sky--

feeling my clothes about me,

the weight of my body in my shoes,

the rim of my hat, air passing in and out

at my nose--and decide to dream no more.




William Carlos Williams

The Widow's Lament in Springtime

by David "Darkarts" THIERREE.

photo by SamLindsey

Sorrow is my own yard

where the new grass

flames as it has flamed

often before but not

with the cold fire

that closes round me this year.




Thirty-five years

I lived with my husband.

The plumtree is white today

with masses of flowers.




Masses of flowers

load the cherry branches

and color some bushes

yellow and some red

but the grief in my heart

is stronger than they

for though they were my joy

formerly, today I notice them

and turn away forgetting.




Today my son told me

that in the meadows,

at the edge of the heavy woods

in the distance, he saw

trees of white flowers.




I feel that I would like

to go there

and fall into those flowers

and sink into the marsh near them.




William Carlos Williams