Poem of the Day

The Bones of August


Not to go backward,
           not to watch the women
peddling in reverse past the church,

                     the priest in his black habit
       receding from the chapel door.

Not to go backward,
           the bones of August
becoming the bones of March,

                     branch of dogwood

Read More

Sign Up to Receive the Poem of the Day

An asterisk (*) denotes a required field.
Recent Poems of the Day