“Nothing’s Perfect. Only,” by Laura Kasischke

Browse By

Poetry by Laura Kasischke from our Winter 2015 issue.


for K.

 

Nothing’s perfect.  Only

the first summer day I dipped

my son’s tiny toes

into the cold careless gray

of Lake Michigan.

 

Also, my second glimpse

of my second husband

who wasn’t my husband then.

 

And, perhaps, quite probably, although

I didn’t hear it, the

first note played with the first bow on

the first violin.

 

Oh.  One birthday, by the way:

The candles, the cake, the dead

still lingering at that table.

Yes.

And Mrs. Dalloway.

Also, “Sailing to Byzantium.”

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This excerpt is featured content from the

Winter 2015 issue

For ordering information or to find out more about the contents of this issue, click here.

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

 

%d bloggers like this: