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Austerlitz, New York

by Ken Harnisch

Fairly said, she allowed
Her auburn hair flying in the breeze
The smoky Berkshires backdrops to
Her haughty pride and the scalpel that was
Once again, my tongue
 
She delved into the words
As would the muse
That brought light to both
Of us, and finding none that would ameliorate
Or could serve as openers
For reconciliation
Walked back into the house
Her shoulders shaking
In her quiet grief
 
Leave it to her assassin
To approach her
Later, and placing hands
Upon those shoulders,
Speak in sonnets
 
And how unfair he was
To use the very words
Emblazoned in the tapestries
Hanging on the linen walls
But how amazed she was
That he had not forgotten
How to say I’m sorry
In the very voice
He borrowed from their stars.

11/28/2007

Author's Note: Austerlitz...home to the Muse

Posted on 11/28/2007
Copyright © 2021 Ken Harnisch

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 11/28/07 at 06:29 AM

Amazing, amazing poetry. So deeply sensitive, self reflective, introspective, expressive. As if I can feel your hands on my shoulders. "Speak in sonnets." Please! Just beautiful. How this attitude, sensitivity would not change, transform, transcend anything is beyond my grasp.

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