A full-blown
salmon-colored
rose
at the end of its
long, thin stem
is the only lampthis morning;
a blend
of anger and longing—resentment—
having nowhere to go,
persists.*
“Hitch your wagon
to a star,”the man said.
Anything that burns.
A full-blown
salmon-colored
rose
at the end of its
long, thin stem
is the only lampthis morning;
a blend
of anger and longing—resentment—
having nowhere to go,
persists.*
“Hitch your wagon
to a star,”the man said.
Anything that burns.
Subscribe and save 50%!
Get immediate access to the current issue and over 25,000 articles from the archives, plus the NYR App.
Already a subscriber? Sign in
