Sunday, April 15, 2012

Another Quick Poetry Post

White Apples
by Donald Hall

when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
I sat up in bed
and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door

white apples and the taste of stone

if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes

From White Apples and the Taste of Stone. Copyright © 2006 by Donald Hall.


Donna Lee said...

What an evocative piece. A sudden memory.

Bells said...

oh that's gorgeous. I love it.