by David Wojahn
They don’t all wake at once. This couple: the wife’s
kiss startling her husband to life, her shroud
a kind of negligee she fidgets with,
suddenly shy, while her man dusts off his bowler hat
and taps his pocket watch alive again.
by Arthur Schlesinger, Jr.
Charles Laughton, playing an English butler won in a poker game by an American rancher, electrifies his new employers—and movie audiences of the 1930s sitting in darkened theaters—by remembering the Gettysburg Address when his new boss had forgotten it and delivering it as if each stunning phrase had come fresh from his mind.
by Jeff Eugenides
The back door of a large house opens and a man steps out. His name is Sean. He is forty–three years old. He moves away from the house, then glances behind him as two other figures materialize, Amy and Maria, American girls. There is a pause before the next person appears, a gap in the procession, but at last Malcolm arrives. He steps onto the grass tentatively, as if afraid he will sink.
But already they can all see what has happened.
by David St. John
I sat at one of the outside tables
At Rosati watching the ragazzi on Vespas
Scream through the Piazza del Popolo
And talked again about changing my life, . . .
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