Yesterday at McKay’s I found Franz Wright’s two latest (I think) poetry books, Wheeling Motel and The Beforelife, for $13.50 and $0.75, respectively.  Both hardbacks.  It’s irritating to keep finding things you need while shopping for other people.  Oh well.  Merry Christmas to me.  Here’s a poem from Wheeling Motel that has got me in tears already this morning:

My Pew

I love this
window
way in the back
in early gentian morning
down which light’s long
labyrinthine whispers
reach my ear, I
would like to describe it to someone,
to myself, my blind companion—
                Why did I turn to this
                forsakenness again?
Are You
just a word?

Are we beheld, or am I all alone?  And

as that little girl on the psych ward
recently asked her father,
When I am very old

can I come back
home, and
will you be there?

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