Days: K. Sullivan

K. Sullivan

He heard his mother cry on her seventy-fourth birthday
about trying to abort him in her second trimester.
The crying sounded like how he imagined
the wind would sound
in an abandoned apartment.
He patted her back, brought her a cup of tea,
got up and closed the windows,
sat down in the middle of his old room,
and listened out for the wind.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Larkin meets earlier Eliot. These character sketches - they hurt. Again i'm thinking: short films. Or book with glossy pages and black & white photos. These would also work well at readings.

And 'Days' - that doctor, that priest. Those fields, and the coat-tails flying. The desolation. For some reason i've always been able to picture this poem very precisely in my mind, which is rare because i'm not a visual person at all.
6:12 AM
Jee Leong said…
Good description, rui. Funny: I have always visualized "Days" very clearly too.
8:24 AM
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