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More poems by Louise GlückLouise Glück | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (1) | Books by Louise GlückBooks by Louise Glück


Louise Glück

Late December: my father and I
are going to New York, to the circus.
He holds me
on his shoulders in the bitter wind:
scraps of white paper
blow over the railroad ties.

My father liked
to stand like this, to hold me
so he couldn't see me.
I remember
staring straight ahead
into the world my father saw;
I was learning
to absorb its emptiness,
the heavy snow
not falling, whirling around us.

Added: 9 Jan 2002 | Last Read: 21 Mar 2018 10:16 PM | Viewed: 8579 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2363/ | Viewed on 21 March 2018.
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