1 мин
Слушать(AI)Why We Are Truly A Nation
Because we rage inside the old boundaries, like a young girl leaving the Church, scared of her parents.
Because we all dream of saving the shaggy, dung-caked buffalo, shielding the herd with our bodies.
Because grief unites us, like the locked antlers of moose who die on their knees in pairs.
William Matthews
William Procter Matthews III (November 11, 1942 – November 12, 1997) was an American poet and essayist.
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Mingus At The Showplace
I was miserable, of course, for I was seventeenand so I swung into action and wrote a poemand it was miserable, for that was how I thoughtpoetry worked: you digested experience shatliterature It was 1960 at The Showplace, long sincedefunct, o...
Minuscule Things
There’s a crack in this glass so fine we can’t see it, and in the blue eye of the candleflame’s needle there’s a dark fleck, a speck of imperfection that could contain, like a microchip, an epic treatise on beauty, except it’s in the eye of the be...
Men At My Father’s Funeral
The ones his age who shook my hand on their way out sent fear along my arm like heroin These weren’t men mute about their feelings, or what’s a body language for And I, the glib one, who’d stood with my back to my father’s body and prais...
Piano Lessons
Sometimes the music is locked in the earth's body, matter- of-fact, transforming itself So our work could seem useless, even tautological, as if music were weather, as if there were never practice, finger-oil on the keys, dust in the curtains...
