In the Pastel City
by Bill Yarrow
I had never been to the pastel city before
but there I was, walking down the Prospekt,
descending the Gustave Doré underground,
stopping on bridges to snap pictures, eating
Azerbaijan beef, attending a ballet, a circus,
watching the thin prostitutes in stiletto heels,
encountering artists on walls and authors on signs,
talking to you over pasta and wine, over and over,
to see soberly whom you had become. Then I had
that dream: your dead parents coming to me,
greeting me, embracing me, pleased, laughing,
their faces alive with smiles, and I felt, somehow,
enfolded, ennobled, and emboldened with happiness
and when I wak'd, I cried to dream again.
|
4
favs |
1333 views
7 comments |
106 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
This poem appears in WRENCH (erbacce-press, 2009).
The poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX, 2012).
This is lovely Bill. The pastel city lives and breathes, "talking to you over pasta and wine, over and over,
to see soberly whom you had become. " Such a nice line.
"enfolded, ennobled, and emboldened with happiness" such mellifluous alliteration.
I am left pondering: is this a meeting between two long-time divorced people, an old relationship perhaps? Compact and pure, and yet I want to know so much more.
I like the tug of music throughout the lines, Bill. Good work.
I can see you there, Bill. What a beautiful picture poem, loved the last line esp "I cried to dream again". Fave
Beautiful in every way!
Outstanding. Big big fav.
this is wonderful. If it were my poem, I would have ended it at
"laughing". I know that is radical, and shortens the heck out of it.. but this is so good and I think, well, it would really end with such a startling and unexpected image - the dead parents laughing. A haunting image. Either way, it is wonderful.
The ending is powerful - wanting the acceptance and the embrace, but facing the reality of it. You brought this to life. Wonderful!