The Sentence

And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again—

Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this
Brilliant day, deserted house.

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"The Sentence" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 5 Jun 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/3031/the-sentence>.

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