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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Maxwell Bodenheim

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

A Man to a Dead Woman

Maxwell Bodenheim

From “Charcoals”

A CHILD half-sleepily piecing together bits of paper,

I draw close the remnants of my mind.

And when they are quite together, the lack of you blows them apart.

My spirit, curving as a pliant, burdened tree,

Sitting with your spirit, and plaiting the shadows of its hair,

Does not see the child and his labors.

I do not know whether to be joy-white with my spirit,

Or rent-gray with the blown remnants of my mind.