The Reading Room

In a latitude where the nights

Are short and starless

Sitting on either side of a table

We expertly pitch our tent at end of day

Unable to see you in the failing light

I construct your mind from what you have to say

You tell me about a butterfly’s wood-brown wings

The birdsong at five a.m.

That woke you like an alarm

The desires of a mongrel bitch

Who litters in the cool of your veranda

A poem by Carlos Drummond de Andrade that begins

“Carlos, keep calm, love / is what you’re seeing now”

You tell me about servants who are voyeurs

Fathers who are forgiving

Music masters and second lieutenants

You’ve driven crazy

An acquaintance who on second meeting

Confided her latest affair

You tell me about the wild times in Kalimpong

You tell me about hillsides and siblings

Pine cones and star signs

Law suits and pets

You tell me you’re a schoolgirl again

Discovering afresh in a candy-striped dress

The cloven leaf and the parts of a flower

You tell me how clever you are

As the kettle hisses

And you keep talking

My stretched hand touching

The raised lines of your skin

I want to tell you it’s nothing you say

But the singing voice you say it in