| Poem for Monday |
[Dec. 8th, 2003|10:24 am] |
Wiring Home
By Rita Dove
Lest the wolves loose their whistles
and shopkeepers inquire,
keep moving, though your knees flush
red as two chapped apples,
keep moving, head up,
past the beggar's cold cup,
past the kiosk's
trumpet tales of
odyssey and heartbreak-
until, turning a corner, you stand,
staring: ambushed
by a window of canaries
bright as a thousand
golden narcissi.
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Off to lunch with my friend from New Zealand who is moving back there in four days, after three years in the U.S. I am sad, but not nearly as sad as my sons will be when her kids are gone.
Icicles by Day
Icicles by Night
And GIP, because why not. |
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