MY NUMBER by Billy Collins Is Death miles away from this house, reaching for a widow in Cincinnati or breathing down the neck of a lost hiker in British Columbia? Is he too busy making arrangements, tampering with air brakes, scattering cancer cells like seeds, loosening the wooden beams of roller coasters to bother with my hidden cottage that visitors find so hard to find? Or is he stepping from a black car parked at the dark end of the lane, shaking open the familiar cloak, its hood raised like the head of a crow, and removing the scythe from the trunk? Did you have any trouble with the directions? I will ask, as I start talking my way out of this.
Posted on: Thu, 02 Oct 2014 17:52:40 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015