英文小诗赏析:Cement Guitar4 m0 X( U/ z' n$ e5 b) \2 B
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All morning I've remembered St. Ignacio's bruise,jaundiced seagulls over Quonset, November and the gross white sky. Days so long you walk home fifteen miles from the restaurant. N: {* g& R i
Same waitress every day of your life and she never remembers your allergies.8 \) ?. k% A; `" k+ n. C
Nothing on the map but scone crumbs and a drop of tea. Just manifold food and a dead request to bury the last of your seven receipts.7 N& w7 M; l( F2 ?' P; h. H
Mother of foster-wit,father of straw,I can see how silence takes the place of those who cut their thoughts in stone before they need them.% g; Y7 n: p+ E
Stone is the past,and the past is a form of flattery.1 |5 {7 O8 H- }) p
Last winter,groups of children sent letters in sadness for the late Christmas suicide. ' T" p1 V9 U8 K' l; I i _ Addressed to those who managed the fishery,who named the docks and decided the colors of unfinished boats,the only way to read them was alive.0 G/ q; a) B0 h$ r& y/ x
To think out loud about those children's names was to forget what you meant by dying.9 l' O. c& U; ]( `