Inside An Old Book of Poems by Mistral, Wendy Howe

pound

Inside An Old Book Of Poems By Mistral

Part of me lingers here,
a garment of loose script
on the fly leaf, an unhemmed draft
of something or nothing.

This book has been stitched
by hand. Its paper stiff;
but your voice groomed with a typeface
called Garamond,
sounds like a Bohemian dance
from the South.

Your lines often sing
of an ocean wind, shore birds
and bell towers looming
over vineyards ripe
with black grapes, a maiden’s love
for the basket maker.

Yet , that silence in-between
tells me you are there
listening to stories outside
your valley beyond
the stone fortress
of Saintes-Maries-de-la Mer.

And maybe, you hear mine —
a woman tattered in her own verse
struggling to find insight, gain closer
access to you. Carefully, I thumb

through all these pages,
your breath fanned in the lamplight – emitting
a faint blend of tobacco and dust.

~Wendy Howe, via Terry Windling

This entry was posted in Terri Windling, Wendy Howe. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s