American Life in Poetry

Any new book from Robert Morgan, be it poetry or prose, is a delightful event, and “Dark Energy,” recently published by Penguin, has lots of wonderful poems. Here’s a portrait that I especially like. Morgan lives in New York.

Heaven’s Gate

In her nineties and afraid

of weather and of falling if

she wandered far outside her door,

my mother took to strolling in

the house. Around and round she’d go,

stalking into corners, backtrack,

then turn and speed down hallway, stop

almost at doorways, skirt a table,

march up to the kitchen sink and

wheel to left, then swing into

the bathroom, almost stumble on

a carpet there. She must have walked

a hundred miles or more among

her furniture and family pics,

mementos of her late husband.

Exercising heart and limb,

outwalking stroke, attack, she strode,

not restless like a lion in zoo,

but with a purpose and a gait,

and kept her eyes on heaven’s gate.