SUMMER VACATION
In dreams I go back
The fence posts peeling in my hands
hollyhocks with their spired yarns.
Lamplight. A scrawny cousin calls us in
free. I do not run.
The cedared doves ask
how much how much how much
They are fat with dark, with cherries
Moths beat out their lives
against the screen
Inside our aunts play gin
& Brahms & you
push back your skim milk hair
to read aloud
from books of maps & tourist lures:
o welcome to the heart
this old poem of mine was published long, long ago by George Hitchcock in kayak
posted by jarvenpa @ 9:52 AM
5 Comments
5 Comments:
This seems older than a lot of the others... Somehow. True?
Yep, as the teensy words at the bottom say, it is a old, old poem from my kayaking days. Good eye.
This is very beautiful.
Kayaking days!
No more kayaks? Just bears and books?
"Cedared doves." Very Shakespearean in construction.
Hi there, Miss Jarvenpa of the World of Books--
I put some poems up by my friend Phil when you want to dip into a new pool...
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