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Literature Text
I trace our children's smiles white into your ribs;
You have raindrops on your cheeks
that look like tears,
and I collect them on my abacus finger –
Counting the years.
You ask – 'Am I broken?'
and I have only mumbles for answers.
I have no heart but an onion,
a cricket ball in a paper bag,
and when I kiss the hollow in your chest
gulping, I am trying to say
'You are broken but you are beautiful,
and'
You have raindrops on your cheeks
that look like tears,
and I collect them on my abacus finger –
Counting the years.
You ask – 'Am I broken?'
and I have only mumbles for answers.
I have no heart but an onion,
a cricket ball in a paper bag,
and when I kiss the hollow in your chest
gulping, I am trying to say
'You are broken but you are beautiful,
and'
Literature
The Fuguist
Jonah hated Mars. He hated everything about it. Every minute he spent there he was plagued by a vague feeling of unrest: Mars was not quite foreign, not quite familiar, an endless mirage or coma dream. Maybe he was dead, and maybe this was purgatory. Sometimes he considered praying at night, asking for forgiveness, just in case, for whatever sin might have banished him there, but then he looked out over the barren, forsaken wasteland and thought his time was much better spent sleeping, or walking.
But he hated how soft the ground was, how little clouds of dust exploded under his soles with every step, and how he could turn around and see his
Literature
This Organized Life
We are having dinner at a place I can’t afford. Carl has gotten into middle age at some point, complete with good posture and brown loafers. Hoping he plans to pay but erring on the side of caution, I order soup.
It is not awkward. We speak easily as ever, despite the pricey menu, Carl’s shoes, and the last time he and I stood yelling in a room together, each so loud the words became one great indistinguishable noise.
“I’m so glad we ran into each other,” he says. The waiter pours more wine. I begin to assume he is going to pay; that is what a man his age does when he brings a woman to a restaurant like this. You al
Literature
15 Translations of Classical Haiku
..
summer's night
from cloud to cloud
dashing moon
(Ranko)
for me, who leaves
for you, who remains
two autumns
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its beautiful!! i love it!