Sitting listening to A Prairie Home Companion on the radio and starting a paper on Gabon. I decided to take a break today and go into Chicago for a few hours - it was startlingly warm - and spend a little time at the Art Institute. I bought some lovely postcards for my wall, and a new olive green pen, and got some shots of my favorite Chicago architecture. The picture of the dog book is a coffee table volume I discovered in the Art Institute modern gift shop, with the most amazing and unique dog portraits - so fun.
I mentioned the wonderful poetry of Joanne Diaz a few posts ago but didn't have a book with me, so here is a great one.
I was the warmth that lifted
from your pilled sheets, the glow
of Sebastian in the picture book
of saints, the moon gliding
through the window beside your bed.
I was the clock in your kitchen
waiting to catch you in my gears.
In the TV, I was the blue tube
that saw your sadness run as silt
down a mountain. I was the rush
in the vein of every oak leaf
that crowded your window.
I was the drift of you before your edges
twisted into a man. The swing
of your loose pant cuff. The joint
in the threshold; the rusted cart
behind the house. You sensed
a visitor, but how can I say
that I was the one who curled
the wallpaper and held the model
airplane in its place? That it was I
late at night, running in the current
of your clock radio, searching
the seashell of your ear?