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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE NERVE, by CLARENCE MAJOR Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: The tracings around my edges?
First Line: The tracings around my edges?
The tracings around my edges?
Your black silk stockings.
My ripped sweater.
The hard knots of your outrage.
I hear peanuts spilling down an air shaft.
I touch the line of your thin brown lips.
The line of your eye, the other eye.
An eggy substance slushes through our nappy lashing.
This is all vanity in the mirror.
I trace a line through the memory of us.
We get enraptured in our own natures.
We've got a lot of nerve.
Everybody else is taking another approach.
We play with each other's toes on pink-green sheets.
Here we are in summer sunlight
with the nerve to touch our own mystery.
Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA
98368-0271, www.cc.press.org
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