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More poems by William StaffordWilliam Stafford | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by William StaffordBooks by William Stafford

Thinking For Berky

William Stafford

In the late night listening from bed
I have joined the ambulance or the patrol
screaming toward some drama, the kind of end
that Berky must have some day, if she isn't dead.

The wildest of all, her father and mother cruel,
farming out there beyond the old stone quarry
where highschool lovers parked their lurching cars,
Berky learned to love in that dark school.

Early her face was turned away from home
toward any hardworking place; but still her soul,
with terrible things to do, was alive, looking out
for the rescue that--surely, some day--would have to come.

Windiest nights, Berky, I have thought for you,
and no matter how lucky I've been I've touched wood.
There are things not solved in our town though tomorrow came:
there are things time passing can never make come true.

We live in an occupied country, misunderstood;
justice will take us millions of intricate moves.
Sirens wil hunt down Berky, you survivors in your beds
listening through the night, so far and good.

Added: 3 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 19 Jul 2018 3:14 PM | Viewed: 9965 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/1087/ | Viewed on 19 July 2018.
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