Charles Simic Poems
|42.||The Oldest Child||1/13/2003|
|43.||The Supreme Moment||1/13/2003|
|45.||To The One Upstairs||1/13/2003|
|49.||Summer In The Country||1/13/2003|
|51.||The Partial Explanation||1/13/2003|
|52.||Read Your Fate||1/13/2003|
|54.||Talking To Little Birdies||1/13/2003|
|55.||The School Of Metaphysics||1/13/2003|
|57.||A Book Full Of Pictures||1/13/2003|
|59.||Heights Of Folly||1/13/2003|
|64.||Eyes Fastened With Pins||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 ...
Grandma laughing on her deathbed.
Eternity, the quiet one, listening in.
Like moths around an oil lamp we were.
Like ragdolls tucked away in the attic.
In walked a cat with a mouthful of feathers.
(How about that?)