Monday, October 12, 2009

Before Dawn in October

by Julia Kasdorf

The window frame catches a draft
that smells of dead leaves and wet street,
and I wrap arms around my knees,
look down on these small breasts,
so my spine forms a curve as perfect
as the rim of the moon. I want to tell
the man sleeping curled as a child beside me
that this futon is a raft. The moon
and tiny star we call sun are the parents
who at last approve of us. For once,
we haven't borrowed more than we can return.
Stars above our cement backyard are as sharp
as those that shine far from Brooklyn,
and we are not bound for anything worse
than we can imagine, as long as we turn
on the kitchen lamp and light a flame
under the pot, as long as we sip coffee
from beautiful China-blue cups and love
the steam of the shower and thrusting
our feet into trousers. As long as we walk
down our street in sun that ignites
red leaves on the maple, we will see
faces on the subway and know we may take
our places somewhere among them.

6 comments:

  1. I adore this. A tangible beauty and comfort.

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  2. Wow, amazing photo, and great poem, which kinda fits in with the blog post I'm trying to finish...and may post some day...

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  3. Lovely.And the picture is just stunning. Thank you.

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  4. What a pleasure. Thank you.

    Renee xoxo

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  5. This is beautiful. I hopped over from the Sunday roast link and goog thing I did.

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)