On Reading
Donaghy and Gilbert, flipping
poems in the sun. Donaghy was still
bound tight, but Gilbert
well thumbed, strained until I broke
his spine, him
spilling out, page by page
on a wind I’d otherwise
never have noticed
by Neil Flatman
Editor’s Note: Anyone who has read Jack Gilbert’s work will understand the relationship of this poem to many of his-the ordinary imagery caught by the last few lines’ realization.
This is an exquisitely crafted and moving poem. This is one to savor and save to reread.
LikeLike