Poetry

I was in my 50's before I started enjoying poetry. Reading these two poems by Rhina P. Espaillat from "Playing at Stillness", was part of the process that got me to the enjoyment stage. These are now some of my favorites.


When We Sold the Tent

When we sold the tent
we threw in the Grand Canyon
with its shawl of pines,
lap full of cones and chipmunks
and crooked seams of river.

We let them have the
parched white moonscapes of Utah,
and Colorado's magnificent of flowers
sun bursting hill after hill.

Long gentle stretches
of Wyoming, rain outside
some sad Idaho
town where the children, giddy
with strange places, clowned all night.

Eyes like small veiled moons
circling our single light, sleek
shadows with paw prints,
all went with the outfit; and
youth, a river of campfires.



Undelivered Mail

Dear Daughter,
Your father and I wish to commend you
on the wisdom of your choices
and the flawless conduct of your life

Dear Poet!
Where is the full-length manuscript
you promised us? Your check is waiting
The presses are ready
and the bookstores are clamoring for delivery

Darling,
This convention is tedious
beyond belief: the hotel is swarming
with disgustingly overexposed women
far too young to have dignity or any minds at all

Dear Patient:
The results of your blood tests reveal
that your problem stems from
a diet dangerously low in pizza and chocolate

Dear Mom,
You were right about everything
and I was an idiot not to listen