DPF / Ibarbourou

For I love the “if” in this stanza, from the FSG Book of Twentieth-Century Latin American Poetry. 


from Life-Hook / by Juana de Ibarbourou, translated by Sophie Cabot Black and María Negroni

Love: if I die don’t take me to the cemetery.
Dig my grave just at ground level, near the laughing
Divine disturbance of a birdhouse.
Or by a fountain’s haunting talk.

DPF / Lowell

For the days of Spring Break have more hours in them than other days, but not hours for dusting, from Day by Day. 

from To Mother / by Robert Lowell

Your parlor was a reproach, I wish I were there with you,
the minutes not counted, but not forever —
you used to brush mantelpiece and banister
with the forefinger of a fresh white glove for dust.

DPF / Collins

For a Monday without bells, and for a seat at my home desk, my tutu mouse smiling to see a human in the seat and to hear Miles Davis play, as Mr. Davis always does if one just tunes in, from Picnic, Lightning.

from In the Room of a Thousand Miles / by Billy Collins

I like writing about where I am,
where I happen to be sitting,
the humidity or the clouds,
the scene outside the window–
a pink tree in bloom,
a neighbor walking his small, nervous dog.

DPF / Williams

For I’ve never grown lilies, though it’s our grandmother’s name, but the blue, pink, and dark red geraniums and the dark red, white, and climbing red roses are blooming in the courtyard and front yard, from Selected Poems.

from The Red Lily / by W.C. Williams

By the road, the river
the edge of the woods

–opening in the sun
closing with the dark–

Red Lily