Literature Network » Edna St. Vincent Millay

At Tea.(Poem)

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From: The Southern Review
Date: 20040922
Author:Staples, Catherine

At Tea 
 
      To be grown up is to sit at the table with people 
         who have died, who neither listen nor speak ... 
                             --Edna St. Vincent Millay 
 
   Yes, I sit at their table, but my dead speak to me 
   Sometimes. Handsome boy with dark brows-- 
   He died while in England, only our letters 
   Crossing in onion-thin blue skins, 
   Mine, his, mine, then not his-- 
   We parted in a dream and now sit 
   At far ends of the table and stare, mouthing 
   Words to songs, the same songs. Once 
   At dusk he stretched himself out lonely 
   As an oak, his ...

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