Recovering from last week's festivities and shaking my head over the inner workings of my three year old who, through the round of bunny sightings, egg dyeing and hunting plus spring-themed baking, parties and days out, kept demanding to see Santa.
The rain has returned now and with it a little quiet, so back to the books. Over the past few weeks (I got very happily sidetracked by this and the next one is on the way) I read through A Book of Luminous Things, an anthology edited by the poet Czeslaw Milosz. This was my favorite thing in the book, it's such a strangely sweet and unexpected tale-
Toast by Leonard Nathan
There was a woman in Ithaca
who cried softly all night
in the next room and helpless
I fell in love with her under the blanket
of snow that settled on all the roofs
of the town, filling up
every dark depression.
Next morning
in the motel coffee shop
I studied all the made-up faces
of women. Was it the middle-aged blonde
who kidded the waitress
or the young brunette lifting
her cup like a toast?
Love, whoever you are,
your courage was my companion
for many cold towns
after the betrayal of Ithaca,
and when I order coffee
in a strange place, still
I say, lifting, this is for you.
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