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The Quarrel

Written by: Stanley Kunitz | Biography
 | Quotes (2) |
 The word I spoke in anger 
weighs less than a parsley seed, 
but a road runs through it 
that leads to my grave,
that bought-and-paid-for lot 
on a salt-sprayed hill in Truro
where the scrub pines 
overlook the bay.
Half-way I'm dead enough,
strayed from my own nature 
and my fierce hold on life.
If I could cry, I'd cry, 
but I'm too old to be 
anybody's child.
Liebchen,
with whom should I quarrel 
except in the hiss of love, 
that harsh, irregular flame?



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