If you were music,
I would listen to you ceaselessly
And my low spirits would brighten up.
If you were a star,
I would gaze by the window till dawn,
And peace would enter my soul.
-- Anna Akhmatova, From March Elegies
Not yet Thanksgiving and cafed in cold Cincinnati across from the coffee and comet-eyed.
The last leg of exam days and no turkey and no peace until they're over. Philadelphia is all kinds of perfect bird (Yia Sou Andras) or will be soon. I am neck-deep in Akhmatova, Stephen Spender and there are worse ways to go. Somewhere and someday: a stone house, light pouring across the kitchen, the certain mornings of tea kettle's whistling and the rustle of still-chilly newsprint. I won't take any of it for granted.
2 comments:
As an anonymous blog browser, I was wondering where you got the ideas for your profound, life-changing poetry?
Dear Anon,
Thanks for the query. In response: I have a really hot boy-muse living in my neighborhood, wicked-smart, elusive and of-the-kind-of-voltage to keep the lights on--even when Duke Energy thinks otherwise.
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