Читать книгу My Ariel - Sina Queyras - Страница 13

The light on the coldest night of the year is glacial.

The sea has frozen and slid across the mountains

Right into the centre of our nine hundred square feet

Where nothing grows. When Gertrude Stein was a small

Girl she kept hearing a sound she described as nails

Striking stone.

Years later she realized this was Emily Dickinson

Writing and she took up the axe.

Now I watch the twins swish in unison.

The poems on their steel rails go each

According to need. A rogue poem like a wave

In a white woollen poncho,

Its fringes a soft broom sweeping down the hall, out

Into the evening traffic, which hisses

Like a fire that might bring you ease.