4 Comments


  1. Consider the sun today, which sparkles more like a wheel
    of tin instead of a bowl of burnished bronze–

    Consider the burdock which, though squat
    and uncomely, casts a thin and graceful shadow–

    Consider the brittle branches whose pencilled forms
    yet bring to mind the musk of summer magnolias–

    One day, syllables snagged so long in the throat
    will marry bright crystals of salt —

    One day a mouth will press against another like the curve
    of the moon on a hillside, like a homecoming–

    One day the world will be that room,
    and that room only.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    01 24 2011


  2. I’m sticking to my guns on the first two lines, Dave :) — though I have tweaked a bit in a different way.

    * * *

    One Day, That Room

    Consider the sun today, which sparkles more
    like a wheel of tin instead of burnished bronze–

    Consider the burdock which, though squat
    and uncomely, casts a thin and graceful shadow–

    Consider the brittle branches whose pencilled forms
    yet bring to mind the musk of summer magnolias–

    One day, syllables snagged so long in the throat
    will marry bright crystals of salt –

    One day a mouth will press against another like the curve
    of the moon on a hillside, like a homecoming–

    One day the world will be that room,
    and that room only.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    01 24 2011



  4. A WINTER QUESTION

    Must the burdock’s flower grow this prickly
    To preen above its dock leaves that shelter
    Leeches, lady bugs, and meandering lizards?

    Some time soon, at season’s turn, we might
    Find that question useful. Not now. Not when
    Even the sharp sparkles of a winter sun can
    Lend it poise: it has a thin but graceful shadow
    Shorn of its leaves that could have been
    A junco’s perch, a bug’s slalom zigzag course,
    A gecko’s undulant porch, a look-out point
    For the titmouse gone gaga over downy snow.

    Some time soon, the burdock’s prickly flower
    Will, with its spring nectar, find its butterfly.
    Will anyone dare call it ugly and squat then?

    —ALBERT B. CASUGA
    Mississauga, 1-24-11

Comments are closed.