Remembrance of Things Past

Stealing a line from Proust to introduce an old poem of my own from a springtime long ago.

The Ensnaring Glances of Men

Their faces line the fence posts with
Their brown beards waving in the wind and
Laughing eyes that call me from the road
(And singing, singing...)

The heads that laughed on London Bridge and
Grinned on pikes from ear to ear
Could not have touched me more.
(Oh, good Christ, they sing! Their voices!)

But there lie lies. I catch their eyes
In mine and, wrapped in spider wire
I lie now torn again, and cold.
(The song? The singing boom of loving?)

"Those are pearls that were his eyes"
Or nails now rusted in their holes
And staring still enraptured at the clouds
(The wind blows cool and
Whistles, singing...)

My legs I find embracing only fence posts
Wrapped in summer grass and leaning back,
Inert against the sun.

The dust lies still.
It moves not.
Neither does it rise.

Barbara Stoner
Sometime in the '70's