Spring 2012 • Vol. XXXIV No. 2 Poetry |

Elegy and Comfort

In those days, you could leave your child at the city's edge for the     wolves. You could wrap your child in leaves or in rags; you could put it in a     basket and set it afloat or sew it in a deerskin and drop it from a cliff. You could smear it with soot or with dirt and give it to gypsies or dogs, or, to guarantee a stormless sea, strap it to the bow of one of many     ships.   • • Here are your pills. Thalidomide and hydrocodone and Diamox: three little bugs in a     paper cup. It rained all day, and then it snowed and you said Look at the Lortab, and down it came, burying the cars in the parking lot, sifting through the trees, pilling up the windowsills until the antiseptic city grew stunned and senseless and you laughed and Here are your pills, I said four hours later, Here are your pills, every four hours, while down the Lortab fell.   • • In troubled times, a man might offer up his chi

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