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Dave Bonta
books were my oysters
and with little money
I was content to wear a gown
indoors all day
and go out with my legs
into the cold
in poor parts of the world
fields go hungry
or rise to eat a peak
but we have excellent table-talk
my wife and I
her old morning gown
almost past use
like balance to the sober
I put on my best black
trimmed with black
silk on velvet gown
but O if I could have found my heart
that blessed crumb
all the morning to herself
and a gown for me—
the paper
When I can make my thoughts come forth
To walk like ladies up and down,
Each one puts on before the glass
Her most becoming hat and gown.
But oh, the shy and eager thoughts
That hide and will not get them dressed,
Why is it that they always seem
So much more lovely than the rest?
The gown you wear is curiously like sound--
Tangles of dahlia-murmurs taking shape
In shrinking, mellow sprays.
The everlasting journey of your heart
Gliding over a sleepy litany
That winds through scattered star-flowers of regrets:
The everlasting journey of your heart
Is like a fragile traveler of sound--
A murmur seeking the love that gave it birth.
Give away her gowns,
Give away her shoes;
She has no more use
For her fragrant gowns;
Take them all down,
Blue, green, blue,
Lilac, pink, blue,
From their padded hangers;
She will dance no more
In her narrow shoes;
Sweep her narrow shoes
From the closet floor.