Poetry Thursday


If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

-Billy Collins

This is actually just the day I am wishing for. So far, this spring has been soupy. Last night, we were woken up by a terrible storm. The hail and wind were so loud that I was sure we were in a tornado. We went downstairs to get Saul, and then I had to go back up the stairs, past the glass front door that I was sure was going to bust out, to retrieve a cowering Monster from the corner of the bedroom. After everything calmed down, we had no power and, therefore, no baby monitor. So we had to wake up Saul to bring him upstairs with us. Needless to say, none of us got much sleep last night. And I'm ashamed to say that perhaps we wouldn't be so miserable this morning if I hadn't insisted that we stay up late to watch the Project Runway finale. Sorry, B. But you know you love it too.

This is why we can't ever have cable. We can't be trusted to use it responsibly.

No comments: