Once, When I lived In Virginia, My upstairs neighbor asked If, at the reading I was to give Would any Of my new poems Include a bit Of the surrounding Landscape, And I said to her No, I don't wirte About that, but, This was A false statement. I could have told her Behind a certain house In Illinois, Is the beginnings Of a prairie. I loved The subtle turnings Of the word Brown, I loved What a Clumsy movement Could toss up: Feathers, Survival tactics, Dust Slanted by A mid-November's Light. And I could have spoken On behalf of The New York Roof gardens in May: Small tufts Of Spring. Near-secret outposts Tucked within A city's Agenda. I can't tell you why Certain things make me Hold my tongue. I think the conversation Dwindled At that point. Nervous laughter, Then she walked Upstairs. Why wouldn't a poet Want to broadcast Such lush noise? It was spring In Virginia, That particular year A lovely meter. It was senseless, And when she missed The reading, Didn't I pluck A stingy blossom?
Document URL: http://www.english.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/eady-nature.html
Last modified: Wednesday, 18-Jul-2007 16:25:39 EDT