"All colors made me happy: even gray.
My eyes were such that literally they
— Vladimir Nabokov (The Pale Fire)
"He met a woman.
He spent the night with her.
He was ready to leave in the morning when she started to tell him
About a book she’d read.
He’d read it; he’d never met another person who had.
They held each other, in that way of good feeling.
At that moment, his heart opened just a little bit
(—The space between the hands of the Virgin Mary, when they’re
held in front of her chest—)
Small, but big enough for a small light to shine out of.
His heart opened, and this woman happened to be there.
It could have been another woman, another place.
His time had come.
Sorry, [their relationship] didn’t last.
When she left him, he felt sad, with a sadness that befits a small opening
With a large and benevolent protectiveness around it.
He was protected.
He couldn’t endure much.
After a long time, I think he will get another chance.
Maybe another kind of love for this heart.
I’m writing his story, and I’ve heard
That some people, when their hearts open,
They rain stones onto the floor,
Gold coins fly like those from the jackpot of a slot machine,
A frightening and unendurable joy: I know
Some people feel their ribs widen and their bodies rack
with sobs, for how long it’s taken."
— Stephanie Brown,
from “Agapé,” in Allegory of the Supermarket: Poems
(University of Georgia Press, 1998)
(Source: apoetreflects, via petradactyl)