Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Late Hours By Lisel Mueller


By Lisel Mueller
On summer nights the world
moves within earshot
on the interstate with its swish
and growl, an occasional siren
that sends chills through us.
Sometimes, on clear, still nights,
voices float into our bedroom,
lunar and fragmented,
as if the sky had let them go
long before our birth.

In winter we close the windows
and read Chekhov,
nearly weeping for his world.

What luxury, to be so happy
that we can grieve
over imaginary lives.


Oh, the countless imaginary lives/lines I've cried over!  The beautiful words, the ink and paper characters as real as my hand in front of my face and yet.....not.  Books: sweet escape, sweet relief, sweet-healing-wounding words. 


"Girl Reading" by Canadian artist, Oliver Ray
"Medicine for the soul." ~Inscription over the door of the Library at Thebes


erin said...

books are art and art is our only way to attempt to articulate the sacred. wait, no, not only way. i can think of a couple of other articulations:)

but this is why it has saved you, marion, and why it saves me, through it we touch the sacred. and we find redemption in our limitations in being human.


Kelly said...

Me, too!! Books have been my saving grace so many times in life.