Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Portraits by Mark Irwin : American Life in Poetry

Good poem from Mark Irwin.  I totally relate.  (Now, imagine the "visiting" mother in the poem has actually passed away years ago . . . and then re-read it . . .)


Mother came to visit today. We

hadn’t seen each other in years. Why didn’t

you call? I asked. Your windows are filthy, she said. I know,

I know. It’s from the dust and rain. She stood outside.

I stood in, and we cleaned each one that way, staring into each other’s eyes,

rubbing the white towel over our faces, rubbing

away hours, years. This is what it was like

when you were inside me, she said. What? I asked,

though I understood. Afterwards, indoors, she smelled like snow

melting. Holding hands we stood by the picture window,

gazing into the December sun, watching the pines in flame.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2010 by Mark Irwin from his most recent book of poems, Large White House Speaking, New Issues, 2013

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Love this poem from Writer's Almanac a few days ago.

The February Bee

 The bumblebee crept out on the stone steps.
No roses. Nothing to gather.
Nothing but itself, the cold air,
and the spring light.
It rubbed its legs together
as if it wished to start a fire
and wear its warmth.
Under its smart yellow bands
the black body shone like patent leather.
It groomed itself, like a pilot
ready for takeoff and yet not ready:
when my shadow fell over him
he flicked his wings, checking them,
and took off into the bare garden.

"The February Bee" by Nancy Willard, from The Sea At Truro. © Knopf, 2012. Reprinted with permission.
And the new house is beginning to take shape!
Watch the roof trusses being delivered!