Places with no markers left by us,
All of a summer, meeting every day,
A memorable summer of hot days,
Day after day of them, evening after evening.
Sometimes we would laze
Upon the river-bank, just touching hands
Or stroking ne another's arms with grasses.
Swans floated by seeming to assert
Their dignity. But we too had our own
Decorum in the small-change of first love.
Nothing was elegiac or nostalgic,
We threw time in the river as we threw
Breadcrumbs to an inquisitive duck, and so
Day entered evening with a sweeping gesture,
Idly we talked of fod and where to go.
This is the love that I knew long ago.
Before possession, passion, and betrayal.
ELIZABETH JENNINGS (1926-20011)
No comments:
Post a Comment