Thank God I am a poet,

For now I can remember dead people

And birds

In poems such as this. My pen sings with me.

This morning as I write I feel myself nudged

Out of the sleep that I wake to go to,

And wish I could do the same for you, my sea gull,

My exultant chicken, my lifeless duck.

I see your face, the incessant warmth

That could warm the ground to keep the snow from sticking.

Oh, how it contrasts what I see here,

Motionless branches, silent shadows, and divorced leaves

That refuse to fall or touch each other with desire.

The sun now scalds my neck in your absence

And my throat clamors for water,

But, reciting my mourning, I am consoled enough,

Standing over the earth pregnant with your body.

But somehow I know you would appreciate

Your teacher’s immortalization of you in a poem.

Written by

Mr. Roethke, cool in the shade with a glass of iced tea.