Ressurection of the little apple tree outside
My window, leaf -
light of late
in the April
called her eyes, forget
forget -
but how
How does one go
about dying?
Who on earth
is going to teach me -
The world
is filled with people
who have never died
Slip
The black balloon
tied to her wrist again, thin hand
floating
an inch above the white
white sheet
The body
a word to be said
into death, one
word
which no one else knows
completely her own -
Night just the shadow of her hell
Excerpt from "Childhood's appointment"
The closer I get to death, the more I love the earth, the thought
introduced itself as I sat shivering on my old park bench before
the dusk fog; as it is, I suppose, to every human being
who has ever lived
past forty.
Franz Wright (1953)
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