[mp3@64kbps - 27.7MB]
Read by: Kirsten Ferreri
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To The Older Woman
by Jeffrey Paggi
Become coffee stains curling
on pearled countertop.
Become lingering scents:
corn syrup, turpentine,
tobacco, tarmacadam.
Become a mired drift,
melting to the water table.
The becoming, and the coming back
to what was once seed and will
be absent indeed;
You do not have to be good.
You merely have to be.
on pearled countertop.
Become lingering scents:
corn syrup, turpentine,
tobacco, tarmacadam.
Become a mired drift,
melting to the water table.
The becoming, and the coming back
to what was once seed and will
be absent indeed;
You do not have to be good.
You merely have to be.
Who holds your mail
when you spend a week
at the shore?, fixing the yard
for the summer renters?,
because:
April is in love
with snow today;
grass peaks, like
her green eyes,
from the white.
She stopped by,
fed the dog, watered
the hanging plants,
& got the morning times.
The Lament of the Impatiens
Today the sky would not speak,& still we sang to her,
The tall trees sang in chorus
Promises to yearn for her sun,
To stand as straight as the lunch bell,
drinking light like a sink with an open drain.
But still silent she stood,
grey as the wood used to build
the deck we’re sitting on,
aged and faded from the last years weather.
And though we are dappled with a pied love born last spring,
The wind and the rain speak today,
autumn shall soon leaf our world again,
and though we spoke words of love to our sky,
through spring’s coarse showers and sweeter sun,
and summer’s moons and its lunch hours,
our song was too soft for the sky to hear,
like lazy nothings from a languishing lover,
that quiet before they reach love’s ear,
and will soon be whispered to another.
