5 Comments

1. 

   R, V, Finch

   February 18, 2010 at 12:25 am

   And before rolling and stuffing into the top drawer, grandmothers darned them… and sometimes damned
   the men who wore them out!

   Reply
2. 

   Jude, hey

   February 18, 2010 at 4:17 pm

   Ok – I get it; just don’t fold my underwear.
   hey.

   Reply
3. 

   Barbara Larsen

   February 18, 2010 at 5:58 pm

   Oh, wonderful Jane Kenyon—wish you were still on earth writing your perceptive poems! I think the great thing about this short work is the way it opens itself to multi interpretations. I think the anger is about fate and whatever has taken the sock owner away.

   Reply
4. 

   Sandra McPherson

   February 21, 2010 at 11:04 am

   It reminds me of Yehuda Amichai’s poem,

   A Dog After Love

   After you left me
   I let a dog smell at
   My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose
   And set out to find you.

   I hope it will tear the
   Testicles of your lover and bite off his penis
   Or at least
   Will bring me your stockings between his teeth.

   Reply
5. 

   Jackie

   February 22, 2010 at 6:40 pm

   Ah, Jane Kenyon-I miss her so. Thanks the poet gods for books.

   Reply