Belfast Tune

  Here’s a girl from a dangerous town
        She crops her dark hair short
  so that less of her has to frown
        when someone gets hurt.

  She folds her memories like a parachute.
        Dropped, she collects the peat
  and cooks her veggies at home: they shoot
        here where they eat.

  Ah, there’s more sky in these parts than, say,
        ground. Hence her voice’s pitch,
  and her stare stains your retina like a gray
        bulb when you switch

  hemispheres, and her knee-length quilt
        skirt’s cut to catch the squal,
  I dream of her either loved or killed
        because the town’s too small.

{ Joseph Brodsky }



About Klassy

How Klassy got her groove back.

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