Thursday, April 17, 2008

Birdseed was her middle name.

The Academy of American Poets' Poem of the Day yesterday was from James Tate:

Father's Day

My daughter has lived overseas for a number
of years now. She married into royalty, and they
won't let her communicate with any of her family or
friends. She lives on birdseed and a few sips
of water. She dreams of me constantly. Her husband,
the Prince, whips her when he catches her dreaming.
Fierce guard dogs won't let her out of their sight.
I hired a detective, but he was killed trying to
rescue her. I have written hundreds of letters
to the State Department. They have written back
saying that they are aware of the situation. I
never saw her dance. I was always at some
convention. I never saw her sing. I was always
working late. I called her My Princess, to make
up for my shortcomings, and she never forgave me.
Birdseed was her middle name.

***

In other news, today is the most gorgeous day of spring: 70 and sunny. I'm wearing flip flops and a short-sleeved blouse: yeah! A full third of my students were absent today, but I couldn't even get annoyed because it's so freaking nice out. Who can blame them?

Last night, in front of the breezy window, E. and I read some James Wright and talked about horses. Before that, sitting in the same breezy room, I worked on a poem with no title. I slept deeply and for half an hour in the afternoon, because I'd woken up so early. I woke up at 6 o'clock in the morning.


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