by | Apr 8, 2015 | Poetry

Oh, yes, we want him to be

comfortable, they say, yet no one

comes forward with a talisman,

with a profession of love,


with a single dried rose

from his own father’s funeral,

with a poem written in stone.

They talk among themselves


and seem confused. You can hear

the wind picking up, can see

the light fading. The light is

fading. Soon the stars will


come out, sharp as diamonds.

Soon he will free himself

from these bonds. Soon he will

turn, leaving them all behind.


Photo By: Anders Sandberg

About The Author


Tom Montag’s books of poetry include: Making Hay & Other Poems; Middle Ground; The Big Book of Ben Zen; In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013; This Wrecked World; The Miles No One Wants; Love Poems; Seventy at Seventy and The River Will Tell You (forthcoming). His poem ‘Lecturing My Daughter in Her First Fall Rain’ has been permanently incorporated into the design of the Milwaukee Convention Center. He blogs at The Middlewesterner. With David Graham he recently co-edited Local News: Poetry About Small Towns.