Memorial Day
From quite possibly my favorite poet, Archibald MacLeish: Ambassador Puser the ambassador Reminds himself in French, felicitous tongue, What these (young men no longer) like here for In rows that once, and somewhere else, were young. . . All night in Brussels the wind had tugged at my door: I had heard the wind at my door and the trees strung Taut, and to me who had never been before In that country it was a strange wind, blowing Steadily, stiffening the walls, the floor, The roof of my room. I had not slept for knowing He too, dead, was … Continue reading Memorial Day
