A Broken Poem

A Broken Poem
Possibly the saddest thing I have ever heard — and I have heard a great many sad things, and have marveled at each as they have arrived, weightless and unbidden — is the sound of my mother helplessly scratching her dry scalp when she wakes up in the morning, unready to face the day. The sound is almost tangible in the dim light, as if it were a broken poem building a nest in the attic, or a bare tree that has gone searching for its leaves. *July 18, 2006* Previous Entry Next Entry Return to Songs and Letters About the Author	Many of the poems on this site are available in print editions. Main Page Author’s Note Background Notebook A Listening Thing Among the Living No Time to Cut My Hair One Hand Clapping Songs and Letters Collected Poems Early Short Stories Armenian Translations Cosmopsis Print Editions Interviews News and Reviews Highly Recommended Let’s Eat Favorite Books & Authors Useless Information Conversation E-mail & Parting Thoughts Flippantly Answered Questions
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