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Linda Pastan

Linda Pastan

I Married You

I married you for all the wrong reasons,
charmed by your dangerous family history,
by the innocent muscles, bulging like hidden
weapons under your shirt, by your naive ties,
the colors of painted scraps of sunset.
I was charmed too by your assumptions
about me: my serenity—that mirror waiting to be
cracked, my flashy acrobatics with knives in the kitchen.
How wrong we both were about each other,
and how happy we have been.

#AmericanWriters

Autres oeuvres par Linda Pastan...
Marks

My husband gives me an A for last night’s supper, an incomplete for my ironing, a B plus in bed. My son says I am average,
Mosaic

1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
Emily Dickinson

We think of hidden in a white dres… among the folded linens and sachet… of well-kept cupboards, or just ou… sending jellies and notes with no… to all the wondering Amherst neigh…
Home for Thanksgiving

The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
Petit Dejeuner

I sing a song of the croissant and of the wily French who trick themselves daily back to the world
Something About the Trees

I remember what my father told me: There is an age when you are most… He was just past fifty then, Was it something about the trees t… There is an age when you are most…
Vermilion

Pierre Bonnard would enter the museum with a tube of paint in his pocket and a sable brush. Then violating the sanctity of one of his own frames
 1
Wind Chill

The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever
The New Dog

Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal
Self-Portrait

After Adam Zagajewski I am child to no one, mother to a… wife for the long haul. On fall days I am happy with my dying brethren, the leaves…
Meditation by the Stove

I have banked the fires of my body into a small but steady blaze here in the kitchen where the dough has a life of its…
A New Poet

Finding a new poet is like finding a new wildflower out in the woods. You don’t see its name in the flower books, and nobody you tell believes
The Cossacks

For Jews, the Cossacks are always… Therefore I think the sun spot on… is melanoma. Therefore I celebrat… New Year’s Eve by counting my annual dead.
Pears

Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,
Jump Cabling

When our cars touched When you lifted the hood of mine To see the intimate workings under… When we were bound together By a pulse of pure energy,



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