|Oct/Nov 2012 Poetry Special Feature|
Almost Sonnet that Begins with a Poem I Wrote on a Typewriter
In 1989, I wrote a poem called "Egypt."
The sun then was a pulled trigger. I saw
scraps only: dusty pyramid, steaming river,
scarab beetles like platinum droplets
on the ground. I imagined you standing
on hot sand, and because I was reading
Antony and Cleopatra in my Shakespeare class,
the dialogue that I heard in my head formed
a relentless echo: "all strange and terrible
events are welcome, but comforts we despise."
And so I despised what gave me peace,
sought instead the snake's cold mouth,
the shining barge on the river, the road
that is finally more heat than light.