When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.
Hi Helen! I love this Neruda poem! I was also wondering if you'd had a chance to pick up your copy of the Tomi Morrison book from my apt. I wanted to make sure you got it before the break, and I don't have your email address. Let me know if you'd like me to drop it off for you or leave it somewhere for you!
ReplyDeleteThanks!
Olivia
oliviabirdsall@nyu.edu