It is an old story, the way it happens
sometimes in winter, sometimes not.
The listener falls to sleep,
the doors to the closets of his unhappiness open

and into his room the misfortunes come --
death by daybreak, death by nightfall,
their wooden wings bruising the air,
their shadows the spilled milk the world cries over.

There is a need for surprise endings;
the green field where cows burn like newsprint,
where the farmer sits and stares,
where nothing, when it happens, is never terrible enough.

Added: on June 29th, 2006 at 12:59 PM | Viewed: 3423 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Mark Strand
Poem: The Room

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, The Room, has received one comment so far. Click here to read it, and perhaps post a comment of your own. Of course you can also always discuss poems by Mark Strand with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!