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from the issue of January 11, 2007
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American Life in Poetry
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Home is where the heart. . . Well, surely we all know that old saying. But it's the particulars of a home that make it ours. Here the poet Linda Parsons Marion, who lives in Knoxville, Tennessee, celebrates familiarity, in its detail and its richness.
Home Fire
Whether on the boulevard or gravel
backroad,
I do not easily raise my hand to those
who toss
up theirs in anonymous hello, merely
to say
"I'm passing this way." Once out
of shyness, now
reluctance to tip my hand, I admire
the shrubbery
instead. I've learned where the lines
are drawn
and keep the privet well trimmed.
I left one house
with toys on the floor for another
with quiet rugs
and a bed where the moon
comes in. I've thrown
myself at men in black turtlenecks
only to find
that home is best after all. Home
where I sit
in the glider, knowing it needs oil,
like my own
rusty joints. Where I coax blackberry
to dogwood
and winter to harvest, where my
table is clothed
in light. Home where I walk out on
the thin page
of night, without waving or giving
myself away,
and return with my words burning
like fire in the grate.
Reprinted from "Home Fires: Poems," Sow's Ear Press, 1997, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 1997 by Linda Parsons. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the UNL Department of English. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
GO TO: ISSUE OF JANUARY 11
ARTS HEADLINES FOR JANUARY 11
Mythical 'Architect's Brother' realm opens Jan. 16
'Alterations' exhibition shows at Richards Hall
American Life in Poetry
'Nebraska Concerts' feature Lincoln performances
Prof, students aid Museum of the Odd opening
Ross, NET Radio offer Met opera in Lincoln
Sheldon to develop Blakelock exhibit
'Sweet Land' director offers Jan. 13 movie talk
732687S36608X
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