
Leaflet on Wooing
Posted Tuesday, July 15, 2003, at 11:50 AM ETListen to Lucie Brock-Broido reading this poem.
Wanting is reposed and plump
As the hands of a Romanov child
Folded in the doeskin sashes of her lap,
Paused before the little war begins.
This one will be guttural, this war.
How is it possible to still be startled
As I am by the oblong silhouette of the coiling
Index finger of a pending death.
No longer will
Wooing be the wondrous
Thing, instead, a homely domesticity, constant
As a field of early rye and yarrow-light.
What one is fit to stand is not what one is
Given, necessarily, and not this night.
What did you think of this article?
Join The Fray: Our Reader Discussion Forum
After Fort Hood, There's No Excuse for the Ban on Women in Combat
What Does "Stable Condition" Mean? Absolutely Nothing.
Jim Carrey's Admirably Restrained Scrooge
The Great New Single That's a Little Bit Whitney Houston and a Little Bit Rusted Root
Joe Biden Explains His Gaffe-Evasion Strategy
The Box: A Creepy, Confusing Thriller From the Guy Who Brought You Donnie Darko











