Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.


You have an ad blocker! We understand, but...

PoetrySoup is a small privately owned website. Our means of support comes from advertising revenue. We want to keep PoetrySoup alive, make it better, and keep it free. Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on PoetrySoup. See how to enable ads while keeping your ad blocker active. Also, did you know you can become a PoetrySoup Lifetime Premium Member and block ads forever...while getting many more great features. Take a look! Thank you!

Smoke

by
 Can you imagine the air filled with smoke?
It was.
The city was vanishing before noon or was it earlier than that? I can't say because the light came from nowhere and went nowhere.
This was years ago, before you were born, before your parents met in a bus station downtown.
She'd come on Friday after work all the way from Toledo, and he'd dressed in his only suit.
Back then we called this a date, some times a blind date, though they'd written back and forth for weeks.
What actually took place is now lost.
It's become part of the mythology of a family, the stories told by children around the dinner table.
No, they aren't dead, they're just treated that way, as objects turned one way and then another to catch the light, the light overflowing with smoke.
Go back to the beginning, you insist.
Why is the air filled with smoke? Simple.
We had work.
Work was something that thrived on fire, that without fire couldn't catch its breath or hang on for life.
We came out into the morning air, Bernie, Stash, Williams, and I, it was late March, a new war was starting up in Asia or closer to home, one that meant to kill us, but for a moment the air held still in the gray poplars and elms undoing their branches.
I understood the moon for the very first time, why it came and went, why it wasn't there that day to greet the four of us.
Before the bus came a small black bird settled on the curb, fearless or hurt, and turned its beak up as though questioning the day.
"A baby crow," someone said.
Your father knelt down on the wet cement, his lunchbox balanced on one knee and stared quietly for a long time.
"A grackle far from home," he said.
One of the four of us mentioned tenderness, a word I wasn't used to, so it wasn't me.
The bus must have arrived.
I'm not there today.
The windows were soiled.
We swayed this way and that over the railroad tracks, across Woodward Avenue, heading west, just like the sun, hidden in smoke.

Poem by
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - SmokeEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...


Top Erica Jong Poems

Analysis and Comments on Smoke

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Smoke here.