Sunday, January 09, 2011

Poem: "Sculptor"


"The sun is unique, but it strolls through every city.
It belongs to me. And I don't intend to share it [...]"
-Marina Tsvetaeva, from Playacting, trans. Christopher Whyte

"Not marble, gold nor bronze, but branches
disfigured by snow or burrowing insects.
Christmas lights budding from plastic vines.
Magnetic tape gutted from cassettes. Spark plugs.

"She is dressing up a totem or a room, she thinks,
but ends up fixing another memorial to him,
not the husband who feeds the dogs and walks
the two dueling ones, but the handsome druggie son."

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