I'll tell you something: every day
people are dying. And that's just the beginning.
Every day, in funeral homes, new widows are born,
new orphans. They sit with their hands folded,
trying to decide about this new life.
Then they're in the cemetery, some of them
for the first time. They're frightened of crying,
sometimes of not crying. Someone leans over,
tells them what to do next, which might mean
saying a few words, sometimes
throwing dirt in the open grave.
And after that, everyone goes back to the house,
which is suddenly full of visitors.
The widow sits on the couch, very stately,
so people line up to approach her,
sometimes take her hand, sometimes embrace her.
She finds something to say to everbody,
thanks them, thanks them for coming.
In her heart, she wants them to go away.
She wants to be back in the cemetery,
back in the sickroom, the hospital. She knows
it isn't possible. But it's her only hope,
the wish to move backward. And just a little,
not so far as the marriage, the first kiss.
Louise Gluck's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Fantasy by Louise Gluck )
- Artists, kassem oude
- दिनैनि गोसोखांथियाव, Ronjoy Brahma
- Make others do, gajanan mishra
- MY FEELINGS FOR YOU, AMADU KAMARA
- From Gandhiji's Quotes for Gandhi Jayanthi, Dr John Celes
- Seeing, Aparna Chatterjee
- O American Girl, Will You Take With You?, Bijay Kant Dubey
- A Woman in Love, Akhtar Jawad
- Endearing Love, Kwai Chee Low
- The Swing, Kwai Chee Low
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Philip Booth
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- Heather Burns
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)