Thursday, July 28, 2005

I can feel my cheek still burning.

My mother never forgave my father
for killing himself,
especially at such an awkward time
and in a public park,
that spring
when I was waiting to be born.
She locked his name
in her deepest cabinet
and would not let him out,
though I could hear him thumping...

Read the rest of Stanley Kunitz's The Portrait in today's Boston Globe.

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