by Donald Justice
Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.
At rest on a stair landing,
They feel it
Moving beneath them now like the deck of a ship,
Though the swell is gentle.
And deep in mirrors
They rediscover
The face of the boy as he practices tying
His father's tie there in secret
And the face of that father,
Still warm with the mystery of lather.
They are more fathers than sons themselves now.
Something is filling them, something
That is like the twilight sound
Of the crickets, immense,
Filling the woods at the foot of the slope
Behind their mortgaged houses.
*****
RG at Forty
So much for reflection and rumination. Happy birthday to me.
5 comments:
Oh, happy birthday! I hope there was something celebratory to eat, such as cake--and I hope that picture is of a celebratory afternoon in the snow. xo
Awesome! Happy birthday!
Happy birthday, RG!
Happy Birthday to you indeed! May this year see your book taken, new poems in the world and getting the attention they deserve, you, Neruda and The Things thriving and growing and happy!
ummm, not necessarily in that order.
Happy 40!
Post a Comment