True Stories #ii
The true story was lost
on the way down to the beach, it's something
I never had, that black tangle
of branches in a shifting light
my blurred footprints
filling with salt
water, this handful
of tiny bones, this owl's kill;
a moon, crumpled papers, a coin,
the glint of an old picnic,
the hollows made by lovers
in a sand a hundred
years ago: no clue.
" . . . something
I never had, that black tangle
of branches in a shifting light . . ."
**********
Also, including this one here;
can't wait for the December!
Small Poems for the Winter Solstice #10
Of course I'm a teller
of mundane lines, such as: I'll try
never to lie to you. Such as:
the day after today the earth will
tilt on its axis towards the sun
again, the light will turn stronger,
it will be spring and you'll
be happy. Such as:
I can fly. I wish I could believe
it. Instead I'm stuck
here, in this waste of particulars,
truths, fact. Teeth, gloves & socks.
I don't trust love
because it's no shape or colour.
both poems by Margaret Atwood
from True Stories
And a closing quote for Auntie Wickie:
"Oh Lord [Oh Goddess]!
Into what an age have you caused me to be born!"
from Flaubert's Parrot by Julian Barnes
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