The Artist
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirthis hair standing out on all sides stood on his toesheels together arms gracefully for the momentcurled above his head. Then he whirled about boundedinto the air and with an entrechat perfectly achievedcompleted the figure. My mother taken by surprisewhere she sat in her invalid's chair was left speechless.
Bravo! she cried at last and clapped her hands. The man's wifecame from the kitchen: What goes on here? she said. But the show was over.
William Carlos Williams
Other author posts
The Young Housewife
At ten a m the young housewifemoves about in negligee behindthe wooden walls of her husband’s house I pass solitary in my car
The Widows Lament In Springtime
Sorrow is my own yardwhere the new grassflames as it has flamedoften before but notwith the cold firethat closes round me this year Thirtyfive yearsI lived with my husband The plumtree is white todaywith masses of flowers Masses of ...
On Gay Wallpaper
The green-blue groundis ruled with silver linesto say the sun is And on this moral seaof grass or dreams lie flowersor baskets of Heaven knows what they arebetween cerulean shapeslaid regularly Mat roses and tridentateleaves of gold...
Portrait Of A Lady
Your thighs are appletreeswhose blossoms touch the sky Which sky The skywhere Watteau hung a lady'sslipper Your kneesare a southern breeze — ora gust of snow
