Poems by Theodore Roethke
The Return
... I will enter heaven in muddy shoesI will come to the table ...
The Sloth
... He will assume that you have Heard--A most Ex-as-per-at-ing Lug ...
Pickle Belt
... They thought about Saturday pay, ...
The Reckoning
... The lack that keeps us what we are, ...
Epidermal Macabre
... The aspect of his fleshy clothes, -- ...
The Saginaw Song
... They throw you through the front plate glass ...
The Minimal
... Lice tethered to long limp subterranean weeds, ...
Child on Top of a Greenhouse
... The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers, ...
Open House
... My truths are all foreknown, ...
Infirmity
... Things without hands take hands: there is no choice, ...
The Visitant
... Staring at a tree, I felt the pulse of a stone ...
My Papa’s Waltz
... With a palm caked hard by dirt, ...
Big Wind
... Flinging long strings of wet across the roof-top, ...
She
... She knows the speech of light, and makes it plain ...
The Bat
... His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead ...
