Category: Poetry

I’m the little toy you’ll shatter,
the garden with miraculous
hiding places. You dart in and out
just to be half-found.

I’m the wind that sings in Braille,
your own shadow getting longer,
the beautiful holes that whimper
in your brain.

– Jo Shapcott

The street was white again,
all the bushes covered with heavy snow
and the trees glittering, encased in ice.

I lay in the dark, waiting for the night to end.
It seemed the longest night I had ever known,
longer than the night I was born

I write about you all the time, I said aloud.
Every time I say “I,” it refers to you.

– Louise Glück, from Visitors Abroad