i want a word for the almost-home.
that point where the highway’s monotony becomes familiar
that subway stop whose name will always wake you from day’s-end dozing
that first glimpse of the skyline
that you never loved until you left it behind.
what do you call the exit sign you see even in your dreams?
is there a name for the airport terminal you come back to,
i need a word for rounding your corner onto your street,
for seeing your city on the horizon,
for flying homewards down your highway.
give me a word for the boundary
between the world you went to see
and the small one you call your own.
i want a word for the moment you know
you’re almost home.
Their bodies spooned into a kiss.
A small detail the untrained eye would miss.
A confession under covers
Just an old married couple.
From Cornelius Eady’s “The Old Married Couple,” in Barbara Berman’s Chapbook Roundup
Poems read by Tom Hiddleston. [listen]
may i feel said he - e.e cummings | He wishes for the cloths of heaven - w.b yeats | as i walked out one evening - auden | from the princess - alfred lord tennyson | sonnet 18 - william shakespeare | love and friendship - emily bronte | bright star - john keats | she walks in beauty - lord byron | dover beach - matthew arnold | there is a lady sweet and kind - anonymous | if music be the food of love - william shakespeare | when you are old - w.b. yeats | us two - a.a. milne | sigh no more - william shakespeare | down by the sally gardens - w.b. yeats | desiderata - max ehrmann | we’ll go no more a roving - lord byron | to his coy mistress - andrew marvell | sonnet 130 - william shakespeare |
Love After Love | Derek Walcott (read by Tom Hiddleston)
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.