Elegy for Myself

by Bruce Weigl

When they said
You with the stars in your eyes,
I didn’t know they were talking to me.
I thought it was just
voices I was hearing
in the slag heaps and
down the ethnic alleys
of stolen plumbs and black cherries
of late summer.
I thought it was something
wrong in my head
when someone died back then,
waiting for the flowers to blossom.

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