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On hearing of the suicide of a young farmer. (poem)
Dear Rob: You don't know me. I left your part of the country. Until today, until I heard of your death you were a name and a photograph of a child I once knew.
The news of your decision brings those cold hard afternoons and dusks and nightfalls back to their places in the muscles of my throat.
Today you will be not only the sailor collar, grin, curls I thought you were
not only the farmer the neighbors wave to, perhaps on a tractor in a field of young corn or talking at the fence your overshoe on the …
