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Two Poems

Tim Murphy

Jun 01 2011

0 mins

NURSING HOME

All day the old ladies
are kept in warm rooms.
The radiant screen confronts
their ruined circle
and brightness looms unflagging
as a world swims by—as far
away, unlikely and preposterous
as a star.

With rugs on knees
and food on trays
the days glide into night.
The nurses shout endearments
and, keeping nursery hours,
put out the light.

OPTIMISM

Every winter
I take out the knitting
never finished
I still hope
to find a child
it might fit
or maybe
someone to grow
into it
 

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