Saturday, October 20, 2007
Fictions (poem)
Fictions
The Buddhists tell us
how everything passes,
nothing is as it seems.
And so
we consider those
we have loved
and wonder where they
have gone,
swallowed into
that inky sea which surrounds
that island where we live.
What became of Miss Bottoms
the English teacher,
who was married to Wordsworth,
and explained with starlit eyes
that "the world is too much
with us. . . .getting and spending
we lay waste our powers."
And that daredevil boy
on his furious motorbike
his engine roaring
as if making an escape
or rushing to meet his lover,
hair waving in the wind,
scarf flowing behind.
Did he arrived at his destination,
the place he was so desperate to go?
Who was it drank
the last glass of wine
at the midnight gathering?
Who talked all through
the white night,
arguing the fine points
of politics and love?
Where are the hands
that awakened your heart,
held your hand
when you were afraid?
Dorothy Walters
October 16, 2007
