Tuesday, November 19, 2002

I love this poem. I heard a few years ago but forgot the title and author.

    Poem: "Topography," by Sharon Olds from The Gold Cell (Alfred A. Knopf).

    Topography

    After we flew across the country we
    got in bed, laid our bodies
    delicately together, like maps laid
    face to face, East to West, my
    San Francisco against your New York, your
    Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
    New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
    bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
    burning against your Kansas your Kansas
    burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
    Standard Time pressing into my
    Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
    beating against your Central Time, your
    sun rising swiftly from the right my
    sun rising swiftly from the left your
    moon rising slowly from the left my
    moon rising slowly from the right until
    all four bodies of the sky
    burn above us, sealing us together,
    all our cities twin cities,
    all our states united, one
    nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.


Still shaking, but getting used to it. It's just strange.

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