Lost Note, Theodore Worozbyt

Lost Note


My brother, your boots lie lost in the loft; the clover has reddened your heels.
All gone you go, and though you never were to me you keep on going, years out.
I want to think you had a face like mine, but less like mine than yours, and more
darkened by salt and the sun than the sag of my own face, that I myself abandoned.

Theodore Worozbyt



Review by Sanjida Yasmin

The alliteration in this poem helps differentiate between the speaker and the brother. Although the difference is very subtle, it seems that the speaker searches for the brother within himself. In its entirety, the poem works to set a tone of disparate and distinct desolation.

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