Meditation By The Stove
I have banked the fires
of my body
into a small but steady blaze
here in the kitchen
where the dough has a life of its own,
breathing under its damp cloth
like a sleeping child;
where the real child plays under the table,
pretending the tablecloth is a tent,
practicing departures; where a dim
brown bird dazzled by light
has flown into the windowpane
and lies stunned on the pavement--
it was never simple, even for birds,
this business of nests.
The innocent eye sees nothing, Auden says,
repeating what the snake told Eve,
what Eve told Adam, tired of gardens,
wanting the fully lived life.
But passion happens like an accident
I could let the dough spill over the rim
of the bowl, neglecting to punch it down,
neglecting the child who waits under the table,
the mild tears already smudging her eyes.
We grow in such haphazard ways.
Today I feel wiser than the bird.
I know the window shuts me in,
that when I open it
the garden smells will make me restless.
And I have banked the fires of my body
into a small domestic flame for others
to warm their hands on for a while.
Linda Pastan's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Meditation By The Stove by Linda Pastan )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Friendship's Light, Pamela Kewin
- Windmill, lee fones
- A Rise of Fury, tolu ogundare
- I Feel Your Darkness, Lilly Emery
- Arabian sea., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Winter Walk..., Denis Martindale
- Year 3000 and Beyond (A Scientific Fores.., Jesus James Llorico
- When Dreams Come, Kyle Schlicher
- Horse of the Hot Bloods, tolu ogundare
- of my Pride, sEaN nOrTh