dotintime
leaves on steps, too
The last leaves fell like notes from a piano
and left their ovals echoing in the ear
Must have been the end of January or the first part of February, 2001 — shortly before I moved away from Manhattan. It was one of those freaky warm days, and I was running some local errand. The sun was enough to warm the steps in front of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Young folks — students probably, from Barnard College or Columbia University — were sitting in small clumps on the steps, and there was this one young guy reading aloud from a book. One of those sharp-cheeked guys with long dark curly hair who look like models for some High Renaissance Italian painter. Reading aloud, like I said, from a book of poetry to a group of mostly young women, and you just knew this guy was going to get laid before it got dark out.
I was a little envious, a little scornful, a little amused as I walked by. But I heard him say The last leaves fell like notes from a piano and I almost stopped. The last leaves fell like notes from a piano. Such an amazing line.
There was a local NY Public Library branch nearby, so I abandoned my errands and spoke to the reference librarian. Derek Walcott, she said. Forest of Europe.
Now here it is, a decade and a half later, and I see this photograph and I remember that line, and that young guy and those young women, and maybe half a year after I saw them planes crashed into the World Trade Center, and I hope those kids were safe and that they all got laid and that line has never left me.
the winter forest
looks like an empty orchestra, its lines
ruled on these scattered manuscripts of snow.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
