Pride
The lilies stained my dress because I was proud
To hold them to my breast. How admired
I appeared in the subway car, nothing left
Private. I believed in little before I lost my faith.
Newlyweds frolic in a bed downstairs,
The house’s shudder moves through mine.
Novena candle, effulgent TV.
Neon clock in the mortician’s window
Whose radiant face was meant for me.
The neighborhood has nodded off,
Trains course under the streets—
I can’t stop this. Which is how
I came to believe. For dear life.
I could never have such power.
—Sally Dawidoff
About the Author
Sally Dawidoff is a 2005 National Endowment for the Arts fellow.
