| What scene would I want to be enveloped in more than this one, an ordinary night at the kitchen table, floral wallpaper pressing in, white cabinets full of glass, the telephone silent, a pen tilted back in my hand?
It gives me time to think about all that is going on outside-- leaves gathering in corners, lichen greening the high grey rocks, while over the dunes the world sails on, huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake.
But beyond this table there is nothing that I need, not even a job that would allow me to row to work, or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4 with cracked green leather seats.
No, it's all here, the clear ovals of a glass of water, a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin, not to mention the odd snarling fish in a frame on the wall, and the way these three candles-- each a different height-- are singing in perfect harmony.
So forgive me if I lower my head now and listen to the short bass candle as he takes a solo while my heart thrums under my shirt-- frog at the edge of a pond-- and my thoughts fly off to a province made of one enormous sky and about a million empty branches.
Billy Collins
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6 comments:
I love that poem!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That poem is awesome!!!!!!!!!!
A book on Stalin...hummm...
Well, if I had written it, it would say "Bible", but I do like the general feel and tone of this poem.
To be clear, I am NOT a communist or a socialist or any "...ist", except for maybe a Godist, a churchist, a familyist.
I was musing about the poem's author, not you Joy. But I'm glad we know definitively what your 'ists' and 'isms' are, all good by the way.
Joy this isn't about this blog but.
I had the best sleepover ever last night.
-Love Molly
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