A Blizzard and a Poem
I made my travel arrangements for the AWP Conference in Atlanta and found an inexpensive place to stay not that far from the Hilton. Apparently, it's too late to register by mail for the Conference itself, so I'll do that after I arrive. If you are going, I look forward to seeing you.
Despite the weather, I have a busy weekend; papers to grade for Monday's class and a poem to work on. I'll leave you with this from my second book, A Path Between Houses (University of Wisconsin Press, 2000). In its little plea for a February thaw, the poem seems timely.
AGE OF CONSENT
To the chair near the linden tree
where my daughter once wept
and could not be consoled.
To the black-and-white cat,
carrying a sparrow into the garage.
To a February thaw
and to every small act of mercy.
To the light that floods the anchor of the bridge.
To the walnut trees aligned in a dolorous row
and the man who tried to make order of this.
To middle age and the condition of my heart.
To the Tibetan prayer for the dead
and the Episcopalian service
for those lost at sea.
To the split oak stacked
against the ramshackle house
and the fires that will carry me
through another winter.
To the whiskey I am allowed in dreams.
To the fiction of my life
and whatever truth I've made of it.
To what the hand finds
when laid against the wall, in the very place
where the bees have made their hive--
some great buzzing heart,
alive again beneath the lath.