White Apples by Donald Hall

when my father had been dead a week
I woke with his voice in my ear
I sat up in bed

and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door

white apples and the taste of stone

if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes

by Donald Hall

Other poems by 'Donald Hall'

An old life

Affirmation

Name of Horses

Sudden Things

The Alligator Bride

Mount Kearsarge Shines

Villanelle

Wolf Knife

A Poet at Twenty

Distressed Haiku

Search Poems
e.g. love, marriage, kids

Popular poems this week

In Silence We Left

The Lost Dances of Cranes

The Author to her Book

Summer Evening

The Lesson

To Mæcenas

A chilly Peace infests the Grass

You Fit Into Me

Still I Rise

Les Lauriers Sont Coupée