Saturday, May 31, 2008

There are Mornings



Even now, when the plot
calls for me to turn to stone,
the sun intervenes. Some mornings
in summer I step outside
and the sky opens
and pours itself into me
as if I were a saint
about to die. But the plot
calls for me to live,
be ordinary, say nothing
to anyone. Inside the house
the mirrors burn when I pass.

--Lisel Mueller

5 comments:

dennis said...

Dennis says

w h a t a g l o r i o u s photo! Brilliant!

Reya Mellicker said...

Sorry Dennis, there is no savoury food in the pic. I'm working on it!

mouse (aka kimy) said...

beautiful poem

beautiful picture

merci

Steve said...

That really is a terrific photo -- as usual. :) And the poem is great too. Who hasn't felt that kind of private jubilation amid the commonplace of every day? (That's how I read it, anyway -- though I'm not sure why the mirrors are burning.)

hele said...

Oh......my

How powerfully beautiful the words are. Perfect for an image that took my breath away.