N O V E M B E R 1 9 9 6
TORN SHADESby Thomas Lux
Hear Thomas Lux read this poem (in RealAudio).
(For help, see a note about the audio.)
Also by Thomas Lux:
Henry Clay's Mouth (1999)
The Man Into Whose Yard You Should Not Hit Your Ball (1998)
He Has Lived in Many Houses (1996)
Gorgeous Surfaces (1994)
Snake Lake (1984)
How, in the first place, did
they get torn -- pulled down hard
too many times: to hide a blow,
or sex, or a man
in stained pajamas? The tear blade-shaped,
serrated, in tatters. And once,
in a house flatside to a gas station,
as snow fell at a speed and angle you could lean on,
two small hands (a patch of throat, a whip
of hair across her face) --
two small hands
parting a torn shade
to welcome a wedge of gray sunlight into that room.
Copyright © 1996 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
The Atlantic Monthly; November 1996; Torn Shades; Volume 278, No. 5; page 66.