Rita Dove


Canary - Poem by Rita Dove

Billie Holiday's burned voice
had as many shadows as lights,
a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano,
the gardenia her signature under that ruined face.

(Now you're cooking, drummer to bass,
magic spoon, magic needle.
Take all day if you have to
with your mirror and your bracelet of song.)
Fact is, the invention of women under siege
has been to sharpen love in the service of myth.
If you can't be free, be a mystery.


Comments about Canary by Rita Dove

  • Rookie - 45 Points Colleen Courtney (5/15/2014 6:47:00 AM)

    If you can't be free, be a mystery. What a brilliant line! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 11, 2013

Poem Edited: Friday, October 11, 2013


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