Sunday, April 3, 2011

3/30: Erasure Poem

With thanks to pp280-281 of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte as published in 2010 by Harper Press's Collins Classics:

The moon opened a blue field in the sky, and rode in it watery bright.

Birds: sing, idle in your boughs.
The time of pleasure and love
is over with you, but you
are not desolate.
Throw on me one bewildered,
dreary glance
and I’ll bury myself
in a deep drift of cloud,
employ myself in dividing
the ripe from the unripe,
repair the fire,
let down the candles,
arrange time in the room.
I will run down the moonlight
a good way on the road,
save minutes of suspense.
Tears of disappointment
become impatient
and the clouds
seize hypochondriac hopes
too bright for so much bliss.
Your fortune has passed:
better tire your wings than
strain my heart. Joy
makes me agile,
welcome, I swallow
as well as I can. Rain
and wind has me dripping
like a mermaid, feverish,
hot, neither afraid
nor unhappy. My prize
is not certain. Slippery
as a briar rose, prickly
as a stray lamb in my arms.

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