This is just to say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
—William Carlos Williams
Caminante, son tues huellas
el camino, y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
seve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar
Caminante, no hay camino,
sino estelas en la mar.
—António Machado
It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?
—Pat Schneider
I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There’s nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began,—
I loved my friend.
—Langston Hughes
were you talking to me? oh weird i'm not here
yeah i got out of bed, curl-creamed my hair
cracked three eggs in a bowl and warmed them just fine
changed at London Bridge, caught the Jubilee line
turned up at the place, did the thing, said the hi
but yeah, no, yeah—power cut behind my eyes
i made a laughter noise, said mmm when you spoke
wasn't sure of your pronouns so said 'morning, folks'
went to the bathroom, pissed, the chain broke
couldn't remember what to do with a thing when you break it
in the mirror, good to see you,
shame you couldn't make it
—Lucas Jones