|  |  |
 |  | |
| ||
| |||||||
| |||||||
|
| ||||||
| |||||||
| |||||||
 Contents | January 2002 In This Issue (Contributors) More on poetry from The Atlantic Monthly. Also by Christian Wiman: Darkness Starts (2001) |
Postolka (Prague)
by Christian Wiman .....  Hear Christian Wiman read this poem (in RealAudio)When I was learning words and you were in the bath there was a flurry of small birds and in the aftermath of all that panicked flight— as if the red dusk willed a concentration of its light— a falcon on the sill. It scanned the orchard's bowers, then pane by pane it eyed the stories facing ours but never looked inside. I called you in to see. And when you steamed the room and naked next to me stood dripping, as a bloom of blood formed in your cheek and slowly seemed to melt, I could almost speak the love I almost felt. Wish for something, you said. A shiver pricked your spine. The falcon turned its head and locked its eyes on mine. For a long moment then I wished and wished and wished the moment would not end. And just like that it vanished.
Copyright © 2002 by The Atlantic Monthly Group. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; January 2002; Postolka (Prague); Volume 289, No. 1; 54. |
| ||
|
Home |
Current Issue |
Back Issues |
Forum |
Site Guide |
Feedback |
Subscribe |
Search
| ||||
