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55: Yesterday by W.S. Merwin


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My friend says I was not a good son you understand I say yes I understand   he says I did not go to see my parents very often you know and I say yes I know   even when I was living in the same city he says maybe I would go there once

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54: At North Farm by John Ashbery


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Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night, Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents, through narrow passes. But will he know where to find you, Recognize you when he sees you, Give you the thing he has for you? Hardly anything grows here, Yet the granaries are bursting

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53: Untitled Poem by Frank O’Hara


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Light clarity avocado salad in the morning after all the terrible things I do how amazing it is to find forgiveness and love, not even forgiveness since what is done is done and forgiveness isn’t love and love is love nothing can ever go wrong though things can get irritating boring and dispensable (in the

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52: What is a Poem? by Ruth Stone


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Having come this far with a handful of alphabet, I am forced, with these few blocks, to invent the universe.   The author’s work can be found in the volume What Love Comes To: New & Selected Poems. Think about how the poem made you feel? Do you have a similar belief in the power

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51: What They Said by Muriel Rukeyser


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: After I am dead, darling, my seventeen senses gone, I shall love you as you wish, no sex, no mouth, but bone – in the way you long for now, with my soul alone.   : When we are neither woman nor man but bleached to skeleton – when you have changed, my darling,

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49: Parting Gift by Elinor Wylie


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I cannot give you the Metropolitan Tower; I cannot give you heaven; Nor the nine Visigoth crowns in the Cluny Museum; Nor happiness, even. But I can give you a very small purse Made out of field-mouse skin, With a painted picture of the universe And seven blue tears therein. I cannot give you the

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48: Talking About the Day by Jim Daniels


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Each night after reading three books to my two children— we each picked one—to unwind them into dreamland, I’d turn off the light and sit between their beds in the wide junk-shop rocker I’d reupholstered blue, still feeling the close-reading warmth of their bodies beside me, and ask them to talk about the day—we did

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47: Because I could not stop for death by Emily Dickinson


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Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality.   We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility –   We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring – We passed

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46: The Bench by Peter Schmitt


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It’s all like a bad riddle, our widow friend said at the time.  If a tree falls in the woods and kills your husband, what can you build from it? That she was speaking quite literally we did not know until the day months later the bench arrived, filling that foyer space in the house the

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