Spring 1992 • Vol. XIV No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1992 |

Book of Routh

Whither thou goest . . .   I learn to live by guile, to do without love. I'm not scared. I wait in the dark for you, Sleeping to avoid death, tired of sleep.   The withered dyed rug fades, dims, fades, recolors,   Warp frayed, weft unraveled; as light looms dark, I doubt I'm happy as can be in this house.   Outside no one would guess inside this house I learn to live by guise, disguise my pain. Love Dinner served by pyre light, sit doused by dark,   Cornered in my room, wait in the dark for you.   The bureau melts to shadow; that unraveled, uncolors. Sleep to avoid death, tired of sleep,   I avoid the mirror, the lie of truth. You sleep Downstairs, chin lobbed over, chair rocked, spilled, house Distilled in techtonic dreams of technicolor,   Mostly golf course green and Triumph blue. I love   Earthpots, cattails, a fireplace, no reflection of you. While you sleep, I sip steeped ceremonial teas, dark   As coffee, your swirled wi

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.