Let's see how we feel today. She sits on a dirty bench in a green park. She's sketching what's before her eyes -- the silver fence, the wet sandbox, the blue and purple buildings. In the background the sky is clear. One cloud in a cold and warm day already half-gone. Country music coming from somewhere. @3Memory of a red dirt road in Waycross, Georgia.@1 Can you hear my voice? These feelings belong to you! Her pink hand moves in quick short strokes. She wears dyed leather every day. These feelings belong to your eyes. Let's see how we feel again. These feelings belong to your face and the memory of singing. All songs are about being born and having to die. All movement is part of the past. The girl's presence is isolated. Let's see how she feels now. She's mistrusting and suspicious and angry. Everything that once made sense to her now makes new sense. I am deeply touched by her. She leaves notes under my door while I sleep. @3Memory of a broken sidewalk in Chicago.@1 She comes here every day to sketch. The motion of her hand belongs to me. 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...MIDSUMMER FROST (2) by ISAAC ROSENBERG TO A WEALTHY MAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S WOOING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAISY FRASER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THOSE EVENING BELLS by THOMAS MOORE AT THE FUNERAL OF A MINOR POET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH IN EMULATION OF MR. COWLEYS POEM CALL'D THE MOTTO by MARY ASTELL |