Richard Wright, Paris


My doctor writes bismuth, arsenic, sulfa, emetine.

1960, 4,000 haiku hang from iron rods

in my Paris living room. I hurl

words into dark, wait for an echo

to cry solace in the falling snow.

What is unseen and unsaid figures bigger.

I am the red sinking winter sun.




Originally published in Drumvoices Literary Revue