Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Breakfast Song

Elizabeth Bishop (1973)

My love, my saving grace,
your eyes are awfully blue.
I kiss your funny face,
your coffee-flavored mouth.
Last night I slept with you.
Today I love you so
how can I bear to go
(as soon I must, I know)
to bed with ugly death
in that cold, filthy place,
to sleep there without you,
without the easy breath
and nightlong, limblong warmth
I've grown accustomed to?
—Nobody wants to die;
tell me it is a lie!
But no, I know it's true.
It's just the common case;
There's nothing one can do,
My love, my saving grace.
Your eyes are awfully blue
early and instant blue.

1 comment:

dan1968 said...

from The New Yorker December 23 & 30, 2002