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More poems by David BermanDavid Berman | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (1) | Books by David BermanBooks by David Berman

Imagining Defeat

David Berman

She woke me up at dawn,
her suitcase like a little brown dog at her heels.

I sat up and looked out the window
at the snow falling in the stand of blackjack trees.

A bus ticket in her hand.

Then she brought something black up to her mouth,
a plum I thought, but it was an asthma inhaler.

I reached under the bed for my menthols
and she asked if I ever thought of cancer.

Yes, I said, but always as a tree way up ahead
in the distance where it doesn't matter

And I suppose a dead soul must look back at that tree,
so far behind his wagon where it also doesn't matter.

except as a memory of rest or water.

Though to believe any of that, I thought,
you have to accept the premise

that she woke me up at all.

Added: 1 Apr 2002 | Last Read: 24 Apr 2018 11:18 PM | Viewed: 8771 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4279/ | Viewed on 24 April 2018.
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