urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:kerdea Peninnah Itzhak Peninnah Itzhak 2010-12-30T06:06:50Z urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:kerdea:290 2010-12-27T12:40:28Z 2010-12-30T06:06:50Z <i>Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,<br />Do now as I bid you, climb<br />The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;<br />Wait at the top, attentive, like<br />A sentry or look-out. He will be home soon;<br />It behooves you to be<br />Generous. You have not been completely<br />Perfect either; with your troublesome body<br />You have done things you shouldn't<br />Discuss in poems. Therefore<br />Call out to him over the open water, over the bright<br />Water<br />With your dark song, with your grasping,<br />Unnatural song--passionate,<br />Like Maria Callas. Who<br />Wouldn't want you? Whose most demonic appetite<br />Could you possibly fail to answer? Soon<br />He will return from wherever he goes in the<br />Meantime,<br />Suntanned from his time away, wanting<br />His grilled chicken. Ah, you must greet him,<br />You must shake the boughs of the tree<br />To get his attention,<br />But carefully, carefully, lest<br />His beautiful face be marred<br />By too many falling needles. </i><br /><br />-Louise Glück