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Sport 43: 2015
One version of the telling is all we’re allowed
One version of the telling is all we’re allowed
a biography of Marianne Moore
Not easy, always,
sharing a bed
with Mother, condescended to by
the boys, Ezra’s
‘angel’ tossing her grain, honey-
oozing chaff:
time not the problem
exactly nor even inexactly
but space, my word!
Under my big bad
hat my mind presumably flickers
clever birds of chat,
doormen mouth
‘Miz’ Marianne’ at me, smiley as
‘Lordy!’ way down South.
Do I mind?
Indeed, mind. My chapeaux
distinctive as slip-through-the-jungle
pelt-spots
biographers so trail, wow!
between the branches, chances,
comprehension
at times as distant as a frog in France is.
So it has to be
Mind, as mentioned, that beloved terrain.
Where else dear reader for flourish
is that high crimson wind where feathers reign?