A long time ago in an internet far away, there was a weekly blog meme called Poetry Thursday. People posted their own poetry, or favorite poems by “famous” poets. Because of Poetry Thursday, I made the acquaintance of Mary Oliver, Sharon Olds, Jane Kenyon, Naomi Shabib Nye, and Billy Collins, and reacquainted myself with some old favorites like the ones at http://www.RumiPoems.com/.
Somehow, summer feels like a good time to revive the idea of a weekly poetry day, so in homage to Poetry Thursday, I’ll post a poem every Thursday. Feel free to post one of your own on your blog – a favorite by someone else, such as those found at RumiPoems.com
or if you’re really brave, one you’ve written yourself. Or if you’d rather just read the poem posted here, that’s perfectly all right with me. Here’s today’s, from Billy Collins latest collection, Horoscopes for the Dead:
It was late, of course,
just the two of us still at the table
working on a second bottle of wine
when you speculated that maybe Eve came first
and Adam began as a rib
that leaped out of her side one paradisal afternoon.
Maybe, I remember saying,
because much was possible back then,
and I mentioned the talking snake
and the giraffes sticking their necks out of the ark,
their noses up in the pouring Old Testament rain.
I like a man with a flexible mind, you said then,
lifting your candlelit glass to me
and I raised mine to you and began to wonder
what life would be like as one of your ribs –
to be with you all the time,
riding under your blouse and skin,
caged under the soft weight of your breasts,
your favorite rib, I am assuming,
if you ever bothered to stop and count them
which is just what I did later that night
after you had fallen asleep
and we were fitted tightly back to front,
your long legs against the length of mine,
my fingers doing the crazy numbering that comes of love.