William Carlos Williams

(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963 / New Jersey)

Complaint - Poem by William Carlos Williams

They call me and I go.
It is a frozen road
past midnight, a dust
of snow caught
in the rigid wheeltracks.
The door opens.
I smile, enter and
shake off the cold.
Here is a great woman
on her side in the bed.
She is sick,
perhaps vomiting,
perhaps laboring
to give birth to
a tenth child. Joy! Joy!
Night is a room
darkened for lovers,
through the jalousies the sun
has sent one golden needle!
I pick the hair from her eyes
and watch her misery
with compassion.

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Read poems about / on: sick, birth, joy, snow, woman, child, hair, smile, sun, night, women, children

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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