More Sea Than Land

GROWN-UP
—Edna St. Vincent Millay

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?

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Half-past eight? Who can stay up that long???

Here are a few reminders for this weekend:

•••Friends of the Sacramento Public Library will hold their first bargain clearance sale at the Book Den Warehouse, 8250 Belvedere Av., Ste. 8, Sacramento, from 12-5 pm today and from 10-4 on Sunday (1/15). Members of "Friends" can also shop from 9-noon today.

•••Tonight: Poems-For-All presents David Larsen, Lauren Gudath, Sean Finney & David Hayward at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., 8 pm. Free; also free mini-books. Info: 442-9295. This afternoon: Patricity in Spirit in Truth Open Mic at Queen Sheba's restaurant, 1537 Howe Av., Sac., 3-5 pm. Info: 920-1020.

•••Sunday (1/15) the Third Sunday Writing Group meets from 1-3 pm. Info re: location: eskimopi@jps.net.

•••Also Sunday: Poets Cleo Kocol of Roseville and John Doyle from Chico will be the featured poets at a Special Event sponsored by the Lincoln Library and Lincoln Arts Poetry Open Mic, 3-5 pm at the Scout Hall (behind the Lincoln Library) in Lincoln. Free to the public.

•••And Monday (1/16), the Sacramento Poetry Center will hold a Martin Luther King, Jr. celebration, with a video screening and open mic to share MLK-inspired poetry. 7:30 pm at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569.

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CAP D'ANTIBES
—Edna St. Vincent Millay

The storm is over, and the land has forgotten the storm; the trees are still.
Under this sun the rain dries quickly.
Cones from the sea-pines cover the ground again
Where yesterday for my fire I gathered all in sight;
But the leaves are meek. The smell of the small alyssum that grows wild here
Is in the air. It is a childish morning.

More sea than land am I; my sulky mind, whipped high by tempest in the night,
is not soon appeased.
Into my occupations with dull roar
It washes,
It recedes.
Even as at my side in the calm day the disturbed Mediterranean
Lurches with heavy swell against the bird-twittering shore.

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THE FAWN
—Edna St. Vincent Millay

There it was I saw what I shall never forget
And never retrieve.
Monstrous and beautiful to human eyes, hard to believe,
He lay, yet there he lay,
Asleep on the moss, his head on his polished cleft small ebony hooves,
The child of the doe, the dappled child of the deer.

Surely his mother had never said, "Lie here
Till I return," so spotty and plain to see
On the green moss lay he.
His eyes had opened; he considered me.

I would have given more than I care to say
To thrifty ears, might I have had him for my friend
One moment only of that forest day:

Might I have had the acceptance, not the love
Of those clear eyes;
Might I have been for him the bough above
Or the root beneath his forest bed,
A part of the forest, seen without surprise.

Was it alarm, ir was it the wind of my fear lest he depart
That jerked him to his jointy knees,
And sent him crashin goff, leaping and stumbling
On his new legs, between the stems of the white trees?

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—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)