Remember the night you got drunk and shot the roses? You were a perfect stranger, Father, even my bad sister cried. Some other gravity, not death or luck, drew fish out of the sea and started them panting. The fish became a man. The archer's bow became a violin. I remember the night you searched the sofa for change and wept on the telephone. Some other gravity, not time or entropy, pulled the knife down for centuries. The archers dropped their bows, harmless as pine needles in the snow. The knife became a plow and entered the earth, Father. Later it became a boat and some other things -- It isn't a dream but it takes a long time, for the archer's bow to become a violin. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE: THE POWER OF MUSIC by SAMUEL LISLE OUT FROM BEHIND THIS MASK by WALT WHITMAN SONG OF THE FATHERLAND by ERNST MORITZ ARNDT THE MESSENGER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE TOAD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT GEMINI AND VIRGO by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY SUNDAY MORNING BELLS by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK |