by Matthew Sitman
Here’s our second poem from Robert Bly, “Something to Do for Aunt Clara”:
There’s something we hold to in the morning. Maybe
It’s just the light, or the way the clock by the bed
Changes slowly, or how wall paintings gradually
Become clear, or the good weight of the eiderdown.
Maybe it’s all the books here in this room.
And the sound of dishes rattling, and the teenagers
Waking up, and a child muttering to herself. Now we have time
For the last few sips of coffee before we go to the funeral.