Tuesday 15 January 2019

Tuesday Poem: "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

by Donald Hall


For more information about the poet, Donald Hall, see:


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