Poetry Pick

FIRST DECEMBER

Elana Wolff


I'm standing in the empty space: place of the white piano
wearing boots and leather jacket
laughing at the camera.

                        We'll live here when the furniture arrives.

Outside
snow has not yet whitened        the earth
is dark as dreaming

I started writing music at the Heinzman in the old house
pieces too demanding for me; I handed them to Frances
and she mastered them with ease.

She played those compositions so semantically, they told.

I turned then
to the privacy
of poems.
           If I didn't have to hide,
           I wouldn't write.

From YOU SPEAK TO ME IN TREES, by Elana Wolff
            (Guernica Press 2006)


 

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