Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Poetry Wednesday, Fol. 27

Found this poem late last night. I had another one picked, but this one spoke to the way I had been feeling. The last line.


Late Hours

Lisel Mueller

On summer nights the world
moves within earshot
on the interstate with its swish
and growl, an occasional siren
that sends chills through us.
Sometimes, on clear, still nights,
voices float into our bedroom,
lunar and fragmented,
as if the sky had let them go
long before our birth.


In winter we close the windows
and read Chekhov,
nearly weeping for his world.

What luxury, to be so happy
that we can grieve
over imaginary lives.






2 comments:

Jennifer said...

1) I accidentally posted last week's with my first post, but linked the right one the second time.

2) I almost posted this same poem this morning! Love it, love it, love it!

mollysabourin said...

This is perfect, Kris - a perfect read for a cold, winter morning. Yes, that last line is both comforting and eye-opening. Thanks for posting yet another great one!