I woke up with a spot of blood 
over my eye. A scratch 
halfway across my forehead. 
But I'm sleeping alone these days. 
Why on earth would a man raise his hand 
against himself, even in sleep? 
It's this and similar questions 
I'm trying to answer this morning. 
As I study my face in the window.

Added: on March 24th, 2005 at 10:33 PM | Viewed: 6072 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Raymond Carver (Raymond Carver Art)
Poem: The Scratch
Poem of the Day: Jan 21 2001

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