“After Your Death First, I emptied the closets of your clothes, threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised from your touch, left empty the jars you bought for preserves. The next morning, birds rustled the fruit trees, and later when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem, I found it half eaten, the other side already rotting, or—like another I plucked and split open—being taken from the inside: a swarm of insects hollowing it. I’m too late, again, another space emptied by loss. Tomorrow, the bowl I have yet to fill.” DeathPoetryLossGriefPoemMourningFigsTidying Book:Monument: Poems New and Selected Source: Monument: Poems New and Selected
“you learned from a Korean poet in Seoul: that one does not bury the mother's body in the ground but in the chest, or--like you-- you carry her corpse on your back.” DeathPoetryLossGriefPoemMourningMothersDeath Of A Mother Book:Monument: Poems New and Selected Source: Monument: Poems New and Selected
“Waking, I am freighted with memory: my mother's last words spoken--after her death--in a dream: Do you know what it means to have a wound that never heals?” DeathHealingWordsWoundsMothersLast WordsDeath Of A Mother Book:Monument: Poems New and Selected Source: Monument: Poems New and Selected
