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StillAuthor(s): Paul NelsonSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 1, No. 3 (Summer, 1970), p. 21Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20157600 .
Accessed: 18/06/2014 00:08
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STILL
Ellsworth gimped by ( it was his wife drowned
in her forties off Isle au Haut).
Hearing his scrape and drag I asked where he was going so early.
To the fire, he said.
It wasn't dawn; the Sullivan brothers
had dragged their Chinese carpet and two rockers out to the edge of the road. Under the skunk moon
and the rosy, dancing orchard
they sat smoking.
Even now, as the foundations
fade like an old beaded necklace, I see the long shadows of old men
swimming on the grass as the earth and moon burned together, died into a cool, green dawn, as the timbers settled politely into the ecstacy of a fine blue flame in the cellar hole.
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