Birthday Letter Home
“We were comforted
by wolves…”
—Ted Hughes, “Life After
Death,” Birthday Letters
What can I tell you—about death
That you don’t know—already
My eyes turning into—wet jewels
Disembodied hands—reaching
Out to me—my boyhood darkness
Feeling betrayed—not knowing why
My sister slowly—growing & growing
Bleeding to death—an invisible wound
She couldn’t see or touch or know
The Hanged Man—so full of pain
His noose tight—around my neck
His trapdoor dangling—every night
How comforting—the howling wolves
The cold moon—passing overhead
Alaskan sky—Northern Lights above
When the wolves—mourn nightly
They’re wailing—for me and my
Dead mother—deep in the forest
Falling snow—Aurora Borealis
I sink deeply—into folk-tale time
Sylvia—crying in the forest night
How many nights—rehearsing
Wet jewels—flowing down from her
Slavic Asiatic—hooded eyes
“We were comforted
by wolves…”
—Ted Hughes, “Life After
Death,” Birthday Letters
What can I tell you—about death
That you don’t know—already
My eyes turning into—wet jewels
Disembodied hands—reaching
Out to me—my boyhood darkness
Feeling betrayed—not knowing why
My sister slowly—growing & growing
Bleeding to death—an invisible wound
She couldn’t see or touch or know
The Hanged Man—so full of pain
His noose tight—around my neck
His trapdoor dangling—every night
How comforting—the howling wolves
The cold moon—passing overhead
Alaskan sky—Northern Lights above
When the wolves—mourn nightly
They’re wailing—for me and my
Dead mother—deep in the forest
Falling snow—Aurora Borealis
I sink deeply—into folk-tale time
Sylvia—crying in the forest night
How many nights—rehearsing
Wet jewels—flowing down from her
Slavic Asiatic—hooded eyes
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