Belfast Tune

A poem by Joseph Brodsky

Here's a girl from a dangerous town
She crops her dark hair short
so that less of her has to frown
when someine gets hurt.

She folds her memories like a parachute.
Dropped, she collects the peat
and cooks her veggies at home: they shoot
here where they eat.

Ah, there's more sky in these parts than, say,
ground. Hence her voice's pitch,
and her stare stains your retina like a gray
bulb when you switch

hemispheres, and her knee-length quilt
skirt's cut to catch the squal,
I dream of her either loved or killed
because the town's too small.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Belfast Tune' by Joseph Brodsky

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy