I can feel she has got out of bed.
That means it is seven a.m.
I have been lying with eyes shut,
thinking, or possibly dreaming,
of how she might look if, at breakfast,
I spoke about the hidden place in her
which, to me, is like a soprano's tremolo,
and right then, over toast and bramble jelly,
if such things are possible, she came.
I imagine she would show it while trying to conceal it.
I imagine her hair would fall about her face
and she would become apparently downcast,
as she does at a concert when she is moved.
The hypnopompic play passes, and I open my eyes
and there she is, next to the bed,
bending to a low drawer, picking over
various small smooth black, white,
and pink items of underwear. She bends
so low her back runs parallel to the earth,
but there is no sway in it, there is little burden, the day has hardly begun.
The two mounds of muscles for walking, leaping, lovemaking,
lift toward the east—what can I say?
Simile is useless; there is nothing like them on earth.
Her breasts fall full; the nipples
are deep pink in the glare shining up through the iron bars
of the gate under the earth where those who could not love
press, wanting to be born again.
I reach out and take her wrist
and she falls back into bed and at once starts unbuttoning my pajamas.
Later, when I open my eyes, there she is again,
rummaging in the same low drawer.
The clock shows eight. Hmmm.
With huge, silent effort of great,
mounded muscles the earth has been turning.
She takes a piece of silken cloth
from the drawer and stands up. Under the falls
of hair her face has become quiet and downcast,
as if she will be, all day among strangers,
looking down inside herself at our rapture.
Galway Kinnell's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Rapture by Galway Kinnell )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(22 March 1941 -)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- Moonlit Night, Tu Fu
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- All the World's a Stage, William Shakespeare
Poem of the Day
- A Blast of His Breath, Francie Lynch
- Disposition, Adriana Avila
- Leaving her, James Jarrett
- Asleep, Luo Zhihai
- Pickled with fate and time, Aftab Alam
- A Preface to My Autobiography, Valsa George
- Haiku - Life, chandra thiagarajan
- An educational song., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Not permanent, hasmukh amathalal
- UNKNOWN, Fatima Obaid