– 176 – poetry Monday

  Ed e’ subito sera  (by Salvatore Quasimodo) Everyone stands alone at the heart of the world pierced by a ray of sunlight, and suddenly it is evening.   My parents have moved out of Italy. Yesterday. They now live in the same town, not very far at all. I was so wrapped up in…

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– 159 – poetry Monday

Mannahatta (by Walt Whitman) I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name. Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my city is that word from of old, Because I see that…

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– 140 – poetry Monday

Morning Poem (by Billy Collins) Why do we bother with the rest of the day, the swale of the afternoon, the sudden dip into evening, then night with his notorious perfumes, his many-pointed stars? This is the best— throwing off the light covers, feet on the cold floor, and buzzing around the house on espresso—…

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