Tuesday, May 4, 2010
They Bow Shyly
This morning I read the following poem and knew it would be included in the new notebook of daily delights. I've been typing and deleting, wording and re-wording my commentary, but I give up. Some things just can't be expressed in ordinary sentences and paragraphs. That's why we have poems. And if you are like me, you will never forget the last three lines.
by James Wright
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass,
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break