Classic poem of the day
Kashmir shrinks into my mailbox,
my home a neat four by six inches.
I always loved neatness. Now I hold
the half-inch Himalayas in my hand.
This is home. And this the closest
I'll ever be to home. When I return,
the colors won't be so brilliant,
the Jhelum's waters so clean,
so ultramarine. My love
And my memory will be a little
out of focus, in it
a giant negative, black
and white, still undeveloped.
member poem of the day
The verge of light
As everyone talks about the coronavirus,
I think away to the shelf where books wait
to be read, to be arranged in a show of spines.
Shall I climb The Magic Mountain of Mann?
Shall I get to know Rebecca?
Shall I adventure into Sophie’s World
on the first page of which a note in black ink-
Dear Gemma, when you have time
I hope you will enjoy this book.
With affection, Ben. Feb ‘95
Dear Ben, I am not Gemma
but when you wrote when you have time
I thought about time in Feb ’95,
six years before I was born.
Did time exist then? Did times like this exist?
I expect no answerer & I know the answer anyway.
Dear Ben, I also think of your privacy,
& Gemma’s, but in times like this
only the pressing matters come to surface.
I’m also sure she must’ve enjoyed the book