After Anna Akhmatova
It isn't happiness I seek.
My lover leaves to visit a lover.
I put my tired child to sleep
like a good mother.
I kneel in my cool, calm room
and pray to the angels -
how hard it is to live alone
and to pretend to be cheerful.
I ask for a vision of passion,
walking the path I know too well,
in my usual fashion,
to the cold, stone building on the hill.
Carol Ann Duffy
Wow, that's an intense poem! I love Anna Akhmatove, but I'm not familiar with Duffy.
ReplyDeleteOops! "Akhmatova"
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