The truth is that , new to Eratosphere, I didn't realize that the "bake-off' was a contest of published poems. I assumed that the sonnets had to be unpublished, so I sent Tim a poem that I'd written recently. It was a lucky mistake for me, as I was able to revise the poem, using the comments made here. I wrote to thank Tom especially for his close reading, and he suggested that I post the revised sonnet. Here it is (I would italicize the last line, if I knew how):
Hard Winter
She got a call, she tells me, from the vet,
Saying the cat is not responding well.
Though she speaks calmly, clearly she’s upset,
And clearly there’s much more she wants to tell.
The weather of her life has not been fair;
Her face shows she’s been out in it too long.
The taxi’s late. A raw, indifferent air
Goes brushing past. She’s spent with being strong.
“She sleeps in my bed. I…”–she’s nearing tears–
“Undo my shirt and hold her to my breast.
We’ve lived together now eleven years.”
I wince to hear such loneliness expressed,
My thoughts–kept to myself–unneighborly:
Turn, and look away. You frighten me.
|