Marking the edge of one of many circles

They speak their language and we listen
on the train, perhaps or at a café
lulled by the perceived music, drawn on
by one word in a dozen that stirs familiar
our ancient roots. Of course their talk
is as mundane as ours, all the daily needs
to communicate, to demand, make known
the self; but they in their world, we in ours—
messy, but for the moment not burdened
by meaning.

 

NaPoWriMo Day 25, prompt is to begin with a line from another poem. First line from Mark Jarman’s “Chimney Swifts,” which I discovered in the Bright Wings anthology. I also borrowed the title from Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.”

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7 thoughts on “Marking the edge of one of many circles

    1. Thanks, Merril. A bit of a sidetrack–but I always had to warn my youngest that lots more people in Germany understood English than she assumed. Just because we couldn’t understand their conversations didn’t mean they couldn’t understand ours!

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I love the flow here, and the idea of the commonality – ancient roots! – between languages. I imagine this in a loud, “messy” café, messy in the way they are in Europe when they’re full of people talking and those rich sounds of life.

    Liked by 1 person

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