Poetry by Laura Kasischke from our Winter 2015 issue.
for K.
Nothing’s perfect. Only
the first summer day I dipped
my son’s tiny toes
into the cold careless gray
of Lake Michigan.
Also, my second glimpse
of my second husband
who wasn’t my husband then.
And, perhaps, quite probably, although
I didn’t hear it, the
first note played with the first bow on
the first violin.
Oh. One birthday, by the way:
The candles, the cake, the dead
still lingering at that table.
Yes.
And Mrs. Dalloway.
Also, “Sailing to Byzantium.”
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This excerpt is featured content from the
Winter 2015 issue
For ordering information or to find out more about the contents of this issue, click here.
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