Birdseed
For May Sarton After the stroke, May’s fans broughther birdseed, in a fifty-pound bagshe couldn’t lift. The poet struggled to rise, to open the door of her home,saw the bag, then burst into tearsof frustration. The bag seemed to torment her,like the high-heeled slipperssomeone gave me after my stroke; like healthy people who told meat twenty-three and paralyzed,it could be… Read more →