Franz Wright: Old story

First the telephone went,
then
the electricity.
It was cold,
and they both went to sleep
as though dressed for a journey.
Like addictions condoned
from above evening
fell, lost
leaves waiting
to come back as leaves—
the long snowy divorce…
That narrow bed, a cross
between an altar
and an operating table. Voice
saying, While I was alive
I loved you.
And I love you now.

Franz Wright: Learning to Read

If I had to look up every fifth or sixth word
so what. I looked them up.
I had nowhere important to be.

My father was unavailable, and my mother
looked like she was about to break,
and not into blossom, each time I spoke.

My favorite was The Iliad. True,
I had trouble pronouncing the names;
but when was I going to pronounce them, and

to whom?
My stepfather maybe?
Number one, he could barely speak English -

two, he had sufficient cause
to smirk or attack
without prompting from me.

Loneliness boredom and fear
my motivation
fiercely fueled.

I get down on my knees and thank God for them.

Du Fu, the Psalms, Whitman, Rilke.
Life has taught me
to understand books.