In the democracy of daisies
every blossom has one vote.
The question on the ballot is
Does he love me?
Each picture is heartbreakingly banal,
a kitten and a ball of yarn,
a dog and bone.
The paper is cheap, easily torn.
I don't know if we're in the beginning
or in the final stage.
-- Tomas Tranströmer
There is menace
in its relentless course, round and round,
describing an ellipsoid,
an airy prison in which a young girl
Before you knew you owned it
it was gone, stolen, and you were a fool.
How you never felt it is the wonder,
heavy and thick,
She leaned over the sink
her weight on her toes
and applied lipstick
in quick certain strokes
The wind cooled as it crossed the open pond
and drove little waves toward us,
brisk, purposeful waves
that vanished at our feet, such energy
We used to play, long before we bought real houses.
A roll of the dice could send a girl to jail.
The money was pink, blue, gold as well as green,
and we could own a whole railroad