It’s Holy Week. Signs
everywhere in sparkling
air. You are welcome
to pray as the kids
hunt Easter eggs. The meaning
is the interplay.
I nod to the tall
Rector on my way up Broad.
It’s a beautiful day.
Author: Tom D'Evelyn
Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.
Pansies
As I leave a glance
back at her window boxes
brimming with pansies.
They writhe in the night
wind. She planted them yester-
day as Spring arrived.
What puts the shine on
things? Does she linger inside
the door? Orpheus,
do what you will it
is not your praise that matters.
Her radiant doubt.
Breakfast Poem
In the middle of
breakfast the cat wants to be
fed. Not a problem.
What I can’t do is
satisfy the self that wants
a poem for break-
fast. Doing won’t do.
I feed the cat, sip coffee,
and see what happens.
ABC
The building blocks on
the floor of the nursery
shine, if memory
serves. Big fat letters—
L, K, O, S, M, Z, K—
tipped this way and that.
Nobody’s around.
Radiant repose, about
to say something new.
Flux
For a second you
leaned on my shoulder, it calmed
us both, or seemed to.
I’m a bookish man,
skeptical, timid, so love’s
equilibrium
is, if it happens,
worth noting. Otherwise flux
makes life not worth it.
Archilochus in the Village
I hear, ‘Each of you
have a story to tell.’ Or:
‘Each story is one
story.’ Beautiful.
I eavesdrop in the village,
my book open to
Archilochus: ‘…and
her hair shadowed her shoulders
and her back.’ An old
man with his school text,
that frayed green Loeb underlined
with Cupid arrows.
Once in Rome
An Autumn morning
on the Via Natio-
nale in Rome. I
watch my wife Toby
sitting outside with her fresh
egg salad sandwich.
She loved her mornings
alone, as I did. We were
in Heaven for the
last time. Rome is kind
to impeccably dressed wo-
men of a certain
age. The dark glasses,
the walking stick. Relaxed and
happy. Life was good.
