Posted by trouble on March 18, 2002, at 10:33:30
In reply to Sylvia Plath by gifted, reckless, dead, posted by trouble on March 18, 2002, at 9:50:48
A Portrait Of The Reader With A Bowl Of Cereal BILLY COLLINS
"A poet...never speaks directly,
as to someone at the breakfast table."
-yeatsEvery morning I sit across from you
at the same small table,
the sun all over the breakfast things-
curve of a blue-and-white pitcher,
a dish of berries-
me in a sweatshirt or robe,
you invisible.Most days, we are suspended
over a deep pool of silence.
I stare straight through you
or look out the window at the garden,
the powerful sky,
a cloud passing behind a tree.There is no need to pass the toast,
the pot of jam,
or pour you a cup of tea,
and I can hide behind the paper,
rotate in its drum of calamitous news.But some days I may notice
a little door swinging open
in the morning air,
and maybe the tea leaves
of some dream will be stuck
to the china slope of the hour-then I will lean forward,
elbows on the table,
with something to tell you,
and you will look up, as always
your spoon dripping milk, ready to listen.
poster:trouble
thread:19863
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20020314/msgs/20105.html