Abandoned Farmhouse BY TED KOOSER He was a big man, says the size of his shoes on a pile of broken dishes by the house; a tall man too, says the length of the bed in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man, says the Bible with a broken back on the floor below […]

An Early Afterlife by Linda Pastan Why don’t we say good-bye right now In the fallacy of perfect health before whatever is going to happen happens. We could perfect our parting, like those characters in On the Beach who said farewell in the shadow of the bomb as we sat watching, young and holding hands […]

A Children’s Story by Louise Gluck Tired of rural life, the king and queen return to the city, all the little princesses rattling in the back of the car singing the song of being: I am, you are, he, she, it is— But there will be no conjugation in the car, oh no. Who can […]

“Autumn” by Louise Glück The part of life devoted to contemplation was at odds with the part committed to action. Fall was approaching. But I remember it was always approaching once school ended. Life, my sister said, is like a torch passed now from the body to the mind. Sadly, she went on, the mind […]

APRIL (Excerpt from “The Months”) by Linda Pastan In the pastel blur of the garden, the cherry and redbud shake rain from their delicate shoulders, as petals of pink dogwood wash down the ditches in dreamlike rivers of color.

The Pasture BY ROBERT FROST I’m going out to clean the pasture spring; I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come too. I’m going out to fetch the little calf That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young, It totters […]

The Round by Stanley Kunitz Light splashed this morning on the shell-pink anemones swaying on their tall stems; down blue-spiked veronica light flowed in rivulets over the humps of the honeybees; this morning I saw light kiss the silk of the roses in their second flowering, my late bloomers flushed with their brandy. A curious […]

A Warm Day by Louise Gluck Today the sun was shining so my neighbor washed her nightdresses in the river— she comes home with everything folded in a basket, beaming, as though her life had just been lengthened a decade. Cleanliness makes her happy— it says you can begin again, the old mistakes needn’t hold […]

On the Mountain by Ruth Stone Drawing its thread, the road stretches to where it is not. How forlorn; and yet, to stand still, more so. Or walking the other way, fear rushes behind, though it only the wind.

March 11 by Ted Kooser The sky a pale yellow this morning, like the skin of an onion, and here at the center, under layer upon layer of brooding and ferment, a poet, and cupped in his hands, the green shoot of one word.