anne carson, 'the beauty of the husband'

.................
for what is more true

than a snowy night, down it comes
sifting over branches and railings and the secret air itself,
down the steep, down the stops, down the deepenings, down the grooves in the nails.
They fall asleep and dream
of muffled corridors,
greenish glow
along the edges of mirrors, faces, cities.
Snow spins over it, down over it all.

(xviii, 80)

"hold on"

I steal
bobby-pins and sugar
and creep
back.

Drown out the sounds of talk
with music
that scatters my thoughts like a glass dropped.

"Sailing to shores of white sand"
"Sinking to the muddy bottom"
I trade these for the other, and dream of a time when I will be able to hear them again,

when music will fill up my house like a tight brown drum.

lilac smell

This morning I wake
Silently, stealth, cat-like
Into a dirty morning
Aching, squinting, blind.

New York is wastrul.
I'm not even sure if that's a word (but it was running in my head).
It is the only word that seems to capture something
About the deadness, and waste slack fitfulness
The light here too bright, outlines bottles of pills and book spines
with ragged impunity at their content, their worth.

My sentences leave me like birds.
Distant scratchings before I can capture them.
I wake, with a toy animal clutched to my heart,
Central lozenge pill-box
Head between the two pillows like a child.

I used to go into my parents room after they got up
And lie in their bed
Center exact straightened

I had to lie just so with the covers pulled exactly straight to my chin
To see the angels in the yard
Bright flames blond angels that lived in our lilac trees.

That's how my mom knew I was special.
Because I had conversations with them each morning as the sun stripped the leaves of dew
Starched washed clean golden light
That poured silently into the room
with that purple lilac smell.

They told me to lie still as a pill-box.

"winter's come and gone" gillian welch!

Oh little red bird
Come to my window sill
Been so lonesome
Shaking that morning chill
Oh little red bird
Open your mouth and say
Been so lonesome
Just about flown away
So long now I've been out
In the rain and snow
But winter's come and gone
A little bird told me so
Oh little blue bird
Pearly feather breast
Five cold nickels all I got left
Oh little blue bird
What am I gonna do
Five cold nickels
Ain't gonna see me through
So long now I've been out
In the rain and snow
But winter's come and gone
A little bird told me so
Oh little black bird
On my wire line
Dark as trouble
In this heart of mine
Poor little black bird
Sings a worried song
Dark as trouble
'Til winter's come and gone
So long now I've been out
In the rain and snow
But winter's come and gone
A little bird told me so
So long now I've been out
In the rain and snow
But winter's come and gone
A little bird told me so

notes for a poem

afternoon blue light
silver light
reflected cold (seen from within)
warm lamp-light
france medieval stone cobblestone courtyard
snow but blue snow
reflections all tarnished silver pewter dull sheen
not bright
hearth glow.

countdown

18.

more shifts
sitting ice-cold
in a dimly lit east village wine shop.

(coldest sigh).

countdown

44.

(days)

(in new york)

(listening to gossip through walls).