加载中…【Deborah Ager黛博拉-艾泽的诗歌】
(2013-08-28 11:36:27)
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【Deborah Ager黛博拉-艾泽】
————————————————————
Alone
Over the fence, the dead
settle in
for a journey. Nine
o'clock.
You are alone for the first
time
today. Boys asleep. Husband
out.
A beer bottle sweats in your
hand,
and sea lavender clogs the
air
with perfume. Think of
yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing
to do
after weeks spent attending
to others.
Your thoughts turn to
whether
butter will last the week,
how much
longer the car can run on
its partial tank of gas.
——————————————————————
Santa Fe In
Winter
冬天的圣达菲
The city is closing for the
night.
Stores draw their blinds one
by one,
and it's dark again, save
for the dim
infrequent streetlight
bending at the neck
like a weighted stem. Years
have built
the city in layers:
balustrades filled in
with brick, adobe reinforced
with steel,
and the rounded arches
smoothed
with white cement.
Neighborhoods
have changed the burro
trails
to streets, bare at
night—
no pedestrians, no cars, no
dogs.
With daylight, the houses
turned galleries
and stores turned
restaurants open—
the Navajos wrapped in
wool
crowd the Palace of the
Governors plaza
to sell their handmade
blankets,
silver rings, and
necklaces
to travelers who will buy
jewelry
as they buy
everything—
another charming history for
themselves.
——————————————————
The Space
Coast
An Airedale rolling through
green frost,
cabbage palms pointing their
accusing leaves
at whom, petulant waves
breaking at my feet.
I ran from them. Nights,
yellow lights
scoured sand. What was ever
found
but women in skirts folded
around the men
they loved that Friday? No
one found me.
And how could that have
been, here, where
even botanical names were
recorded
and small roads mapped in
red?
Night, the sky is black
paper pecked with pinholes.
Tortoises push eggs into
warm sand.
Was it too late to have come
here?
Everything's discovered.
Everything's spoken for.
The air smells of salt. My
lover's body.
Perhaps it is too late. I
want to run
the beach's length, because
it never ends.
The barren beach. Airedales
grow
fins on their hard heads,
drowned surfers
resurface, and those little
girls
who would not be called back
to safety are found.
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