by Kathryn Worth
Through all the frozen winter
My nose has grown most lonely
For lovely, lovely, colored smells
That come in springtime only.
The purple smell of lilacs,
The yellow smell that blows
Across the air of meadows
Where bright forsythia grows.
The tall pink smell of peach trees,
The low white smell of clover,
And everywhere the great green smell
Of grass the whole world over.
Tonight the dishes are done. Tonight the baby is already asleep. Tonight the older children are reading quietly in their rooms. Tonight my husband is in his shop tuning skis. That means tonight I will put on my pajamas, slip into a cozy seat by the fire, and crack open a brand new book of poetry.
(This was an image of The Best of It by Kay Ryan, but it’s not working…”)
I’ve heard that some people like to skip around, reading a poem here or there. Not me. I begin at page one and read poetry books straight through, like a novel. I like to think there’s a meaning in their sequence.
What are you doing tonight?