Short Poems

About the railway station as the taxicabs leave,
the smoke from their exhaust pipes is murky blue —
stinking flowers, budding, unfolding, over the ruts in the snow.

Feast, you who cross the bridge
this cold twilight
on these honeycombs of light, the buildings of Manhattan.

This tree in the twilit street —
the pods hang from its bare symmetrical branches
motionless —
but if, like God, a century were to us
the twinkling of an eye,
we should see the frenzy of growth.

In the dark woods
the dark birds fly:
do you
with your single star, new moon,
come to light this darkness?

In a strange street, among strangers,
I looked about: above the houses
you were there, sole companion many a night —

The moon shines in the summer night;
now I begin to understand the Hebrews
who could forget the Lord, throw kisses at the moon,
until the archers came against Israel
and bronze chariots from the north
rolled into the cities of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem.
What then must happen, you Jeremiahs,
to me who look at moon and stars and trees?

After I had worked all day at what I earn my living,
I was tired. Now my own work has lost another day,
I thought, but began slowly,
and slowly my strength came back to me.
Surely, the tide comes in twice a day.

As he read, his mother sat down beside him. " Read me a little. "
" You wouldn't understand, Ma. " " What do you care? Read me a little.
When I was a girl I wanted to study so much, but who could?
My father used to cry when I talked to him about it,
but he cried because he couldn't afford to educate the boys — even. "
As he read, she listened gravely; then went back to her ironing.
The gaslight shone on her round, ruddy face and the white cotton sheets that she spread and ironed;
from the shelf the alarm-clock ticked and ticked rapidly.

Under cloud on cloud the lake is black;
wheeling locomotives in the yard
pour their smoke into the crowded sky.

I have watched trees and the moon and walked on —
she would be beauty to go wherever I go.