In language stark and plain as hymns, Susan Stewart explores our insatiable desire to find meaning in remembrance.
When I tell her the dining room seems a little small,
She opens the double doors to the garden
And motions me out with a gesture suggesting
Eels are slimy creatures.
But never lie. If they sense
the slightest pretence, they'll
bite off your finger. Carefully
study the hands of politicians.
Tumbled down an incline at Bash Bish
Broke many things; it was still spring
And we love life if we find a way to it.
We dance in between martyrs and raise a minaret for violet or palm trees.
We love life if we find a way to it.