American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Poetry

Dean Young

On mornings when I hope you forget my name,
I walk through the high wet weeds
that don’t have names either.
I do not remember the word dew.
I do not remember what I told you
with your ear in my teeth.

— Dean Young, from “Selected Recent and New Errors,” Bender: New and Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press 2012)

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