“If You Knew” by Ellen Bass What if you knew you’d be the last to touch someone? If you were taking tickets, for ex… at the theater, tearing them,

“Ars Poetica” by Archibald MacLe… A poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit, Dumb As old medallions to the thumb,

“Forgetfulness” by Billy Collins The name of the author is the firs… followed obediently by the title,… the heartbreaking conclusion, the… which suddenly becomes one you hav…

“Coming Home at Twilight in Late… We turned into the drive, and gravel flew up from the tires like sparks from a fire. So much to be done—the unpacking, the mail

“Perhaps the World Ends Here” by… The world begins at a kitchen tabl… we must eat to live. The gifts of earth are brought and… table so it has been since creatio…

“Where I’m From” by George Ella… I am from clothespins, from Clorox and carbon-tetrachlori… I am from the dirt under the back… (Black, glistening,

“Otherwise” by Jane Kenyon I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate

“Let Evening Come” by Jane Kenyo… Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn,… up the bales as the sun moves down… Let the cricket take up chafing

“So Much Happiness” by Naomi Shi… It is difficult to know what to do… With sadness there is something to… a wound to tend with lotion and cl… When the world falls in around you…

“For What Binds Us” by Jane Hir… There are names for what binds us: strong forces, weak forces. Look around, you can see them: the skin that forms in a half-empt…

“The Farm” by Joyce Sutphen My father’s farm is an apple bloss… He keeps his hills in dandelion ca… and weaves a lane of lilacs betwee… and the jack-in-the-pulpits.

“The Peace of Wild Things” by We… When despair for the world grows i… and I wake in the night at the lea… in fear of what my life and my chi… I go and lie down where the wood d…

“Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fir… Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

“A Blessing” by James Wright Just off the highway to Rochester… Twilight bounds softly forth on th… And the eyes of those two Indian… Darken with kindness.

“After Apple-Picking” by Robert… My long two-pointed ladder’s stick… Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’… Beside it, and there may be two or…