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Ahlberg, Allan | Ahvenjärvi, Juhani | Angelou, Maya | Bakhtiar, Shireen | Beatty, Paul | Boland, Eavan | Brooks, Gwendolyn | Brown, Sterling | Bryant, Dana | Chapman, Tracy | Clifton Read, Lucile | Coleman, Anita Scott | Coleman, Wanda | Cullun, Countee | Dashiell, J.M. | Dove, Rita | Dylan, Bob | Evans, Mari | Gaines, Reg E. | Giovanni, Nikki | Goldbarth, Albert | Harper, Michael | Hayden, Chris | Hayden, Robert | Jordan, June | Lorde, Audre | Madhubuti, Haki R. | Mc Kenty, Bob | Moore, Richard | Reed, Ishmael | Salt'n'Pepa | Sayar, Keyvan | Scott-Heron, Gill | Shakur, Tupac | Sinervo, Helena | Stevens, Cat | Teasdale, Sarah | The Sugarhill Gang | Walcott, Derek | Walker, Alice | Walker, Margaret | Williams, Saul | Wyclef Jean | Young, Al
Boland, Eavan
A woman painted on a leaf
I found it among curios and silver
in the pureness of wintry light.
A woman painted on a leaf.
Fine lines drawn on a veined surface
in a hand-made frame.
This is not my face. Neither did I draw it.
A leaf falls in the garden.
The moon cools its aftermath of sap.
The pith of summer dries out in starlight.
A woman is inscribed there.
This is not death. It is the terrible
suspension of life.
I want a poem
I can grow old in. I want a poem I can die in.
I want to take
this dried-out face,
as you take a starling from behind iron,
and return it to its elements of air, of ending-
so that Autumn
which was once
the hard look of stars,
the frown on a gardener's face,
a gradual bronzing of the distance,
will be,
from now on,
a crisp tinder underfoot. Cheekbones. Eyes. Will be
a mouth crying out. Let me.
Let me die.
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