Charles Simic Poems
|42.||Summer In The Country||1/13/2003|
|43.||Talking To Little Birdies||1/13/2003|
|47.||The Friends of Heraclitus||6/23/2017|
|50.||The Oldest Child||1/13/2003|
|51.||The Partial Explanation||1/13/2003|
|52.||The School Of Metaphysics||1/13/2003|
|55.||The Supreme Moment||1/13/2003|
|56.||The White Room||1/13/2003|
|57.||The Wooden Toy||1/13/2003|
|58.||The Writings of the Mystics||6/24/2017|
|61.||To The One Upstairs||1/13/2003|
The truth is dark under your eyelids.
What are you going to do about it?
The birds are silent; there's no one to ask.
All day long you'll squint at the gray sky.
When the wind blows you'll shiver like straw.
A meek little lamb you grew your wool
Till they came after you with huge shears.
Flies hovered over open mouth,
Then they, too, flew off like the leaves,
The bare branches reached after them in vain.
Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snow flake.
Till a neighbor ...
The Partial Explanation
Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.
Grimy little luncheonette,
The snow falling outside.
Seems like it has grown darker
Since I last heard the kitchen door
Behind my back
Since I last noticed