Poet's Corner: Station by Sharon Olds

[stonepicnicking_okapi]

Station by Sharon Olds

Coming in off the dock after writing,
I approached the house,
and saw your long grandee face
in the light of a lamp with a parchment shade
the color of flame.

An elegant hand on your beard. Your tapered
eyes found me on the lawn. You looked
as the lord looks down from a narrow window
and you are descended from lords. Calmly, with no
hint of shyness you examined me,
the wife who runs out on the dock to write
as soon as one child is in bed,
leaving the other to you.

Your long
mouth, flexible as an archer’s bow,
did not curve. We spent a long moment
in the truth of our situation, the poems
heavy as poached game hanging from my hands.

Comments

[ancientreader]

Eesh. To the extent that this is autobiographical, it's excruciating -- especially in contrast with a particular poem I remember but can't think of the name of, about the fitting-together of lovers' bodies.

That "long grandee face." So much alienation in just those three words.