segunda-feira, 11 de fevereiro de 2013

Mark Yakich - a poem

Dear Mr. Whitman,

I picked up a hairy little leaf knowing,
As I did every cranny by heart,
How obscure the woods could get.
I came an awfully long way not simply
To listen to my dolly torque up
A little aspiration for the sun.
I was lost in my thoughts or, more
Properly, I was lost in you, Sir.
When I got back home, I had so many
Chores to do that didn’t seem worth
Their names. Now I ask you to help—
Please write me a note from the grave.
Because Daddy still doesn’t believe me
When I tell him that I’m afraid
To mow the grass. Always, Sylvia
The Importance of Peeling Potatoes in Ukraine, Penguin, 2008

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