in the mid-city, under an oiled sky,
In the mid-city, under an oiled sky,
I lay in a garden of such dusky green
It seemed the dregs of the imagination.
Hedged round by elegant spears of iron fence
My face became a moon to absent suns.
A low heat beat upon my reading face;
There rose no roses in that gritty place
But blue-gray lilacs hung their tassels out.
Hard zinnias and ugly marigolds
And one sweet statue of a child stood by.
-from “a garden in Chicago”, by karl Shapiro
Comment by A Free Man
4.09.2009 @ 11:58 am
Lovely.