Monday, January 14, 2008


My mom sent me this poem and I love it.

Home is so Sad

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft

And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.

--Philip Larkin


Anonymous said...

I loved you playing piano after Christmas (though that was the evening of the big tiff--speaking of divorce).

D said...

Now , now, no reason to air our dirty laundry. I too miss the piano. I know, If I would just get off my lazy ass and learn the thing, the house would be filled that sound again. But then again, it wouldn't be as special as when Em comes home and tickles them ......ivories

D said...

filled with that sound again....sorry