Featured Poem 11/25 – “White Apples”

White Apples by Donald Hall


when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
I sat up in bed
and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door

white apples and the taste of stone

if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes

You may also like...

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *