[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Twofer

  • From: David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Sun, 25 Apr 2010 10:48:30 -0700


A cold counts for nothing.
Tell someone you have a serious-sounding ill--
a pox upon the ventricle--
and she may toss you a quarter's nip of sympathy.
A cold is a groat,
a blister on a Cromwellian pikeman's foot,
an Amazon's menstrual cramp.
You are richer than the guy
third from left,
in the second to back row,
of Dante's light-infused fabulous nosebleed seats,
for you are not, as the French say,
eating dandelions root first,
pushing up the late or last daisy.
That's amazing.


When comparing memories,
given your views of trivial things and great,
and mine, which of course differ,
the sum adds up to tundra,
something spongy, remote and chancy,
which chucks up old bones when it moves.
We toast one another,
compare how we think the past happened,
grip hands,
make plans for when next,
knowing full well.

David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon

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