Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Hilda and the Heat

It's supposed to hit 97 today here in Chicagoland. I did my painting early, but we have to run errands soon, and we'll venture into that hazy hotness that is crisping my lawn as I write.

I thought a poem about the heat was in order; here's one by H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) which I thought was nice.


O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat--
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

H. D.

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