October 13th, 2008

poetry, exceptindreams

314: Belfast Tune

“Belfast Tune”
Joseph Brodsky

Here’s a girl from a dangerous town.
    She crops her dark hair short
so that less of her has to frown
    when someone gets hurt.

She folds her memories like a parachute.
    Dropped, she collects the peat
and cooks her veggies at home: they shoot
    here where they eat.

Ah, there’s more sky in these parts than, say,
    ground. Hence her voice’s pitch,
and her stare stains your retina like a gray
    bulb when you switch

hemispheres, and her knee-length quilt
    skirt’s cut to catch the squall.
I dream of her either loved or killed
    because the town’s too small.