Poems of Sharon Olds
|2.||A Week Later||1/13/2003|
|4.||Her First Week||11/28/2014|
|5.||I Could Not Tell||11/19/2011|
|6.||I Go Back to May 1937||11/19/2011|
|7.||Japanese-American Farmhouse, California, 1942||1/20/2003|
|9.||My Son the Man||1/7/2015|
|12.||Still Life in Landscape||11/19/2011|
|13.||Take the I Out||1/20/2003|
|16.||The Daughter Goes To Camp||1/13/2003|
|19.||The Mortal One||1/13/2003|
When I got to his marker, I sat on it,
like sitting on the edge of someone's bed
and I rubbed the smooth, speckled granite.
I took some tears from my jaw and neck
and started to wash a corner of his stone.
Then a black and amber ant
ran out onto the granite, and off it,
and another ant hauled a dead
ant onto the stone, leaving it, and not coming back.