Remember the night you got drunk and shot the roses? You were a perfect stranger, Father, even my bad sister cried. Some other gravity, not death or luck, drew fish out of the sea and started them panting. The fish became a man. The archer's bow became a violin. I remember the night you searched the sofa for change and wept on the telephone. Some other gravity, not time or entropy, pulled the knife down for centuries. The archers dropped their bows, harmless as pine needles in the snow. The knife became a plow and entered the earth, Father. Later it became a boat and some other things -- It isn't a dream but it takes a long time, for the archer's bow to become a violin. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWENTY-FOUR HOKKU ON A MODERN THEME by AMY LOWELL SOLUTIONS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AT MIDSUMMER by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL WASHINGTON by PHILLIS WHEATLEY TO THE MEMORY OF SAMUEL WHITBREAD by BERNARD BARTON |