Poetic Medicine

By Rita Dove It is difficult/to get the news from poems /yet men die miserably every day/for lack/of  what is found there./Hear me out/...

By Rita Dove I love the hour before takeoff, that stretch of no time, no home but the gray vinyl seats linked like unfolding paper doll...

By Rita Dove I made it home early, only to get stalled in the driveway-swaying at the wheel like a blind pianist caught in a tune meant...

By Rita Dove It gets you nowhere but deeper your own shit - pure misery a luxury one never learns to enjoy.  There's always some m...

By Rita Dove "Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me...." The He...