|
|
Crown Victoria
Keren Veisblatt
I.
Some mornings I wake to
a colder room.
Outside, rain trickles down
a vertical brook.
It soaks the world as I remain in bed.
I can't see the leaves rushing
to the gutters, or the sparrow seeking
refuge in the skeleton of an aspen.
II.
Afterwards I like to read
about Sir Isaac Newton,
Or the Pope.
All these men, conjuring manifestos,
theories, crusades,
never doing what we've done.
I lie on wrinkled sheets thinking,
Could I have been great without this?
III.
Tell me, boy,
who passes in the street:
can you see that the wind hits my curls
a bit differently?
|
|
