Thursday, February 28, 2008

A little bit of Annie

Since I am sick today (thank you, Africa), and since I'm wearing a black turtleneck, I think I will set aside tales of Moroccan exploits for another time and instead share with you a little poem in honor mon cher ami in Towson who lays away money for a Hermes 3000 manual typewriter.  This one is somewhat atypical of this particular poet but I love it nonetheless because it reminds me of my home and all the dear friends whom I think of so fondly.  

I Remember by Anne Sexton

By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color--no more than 
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet 
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back 
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was 
the door to mine.

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