What’s on my desk—dark oak bookstand, with my uncollected poems all collected into a 3-ring binder. Art nouveau brass lamp with a tortoise patterned shade; the base of the lamp curves like a treble clef. Bible open to the verse on the little foxes. Post-it notes in piles like fading autumn leaves. My new pen with its mother of pearl cap. Pearl earrings. Pencils. Indigo ink. Blue jay feather. Translation-in-progress of Rilke that’s instead turning into another poem. CD of Samson/Delilah by St. Saens. A mimeographed poem that an old friend wrote for me, words about to vanish like old bruises. The Last Nostalgia. “Self-Portrait in Black Hat.”
P.S. Space cleared off for my new laptop, which was one of my Valentine’s gifts. My husband is, shall we say, uxorious.
P.S.S. And the desk is perhaps my biggest bargain of all time, Stickley style and definitely of the period, with matching bookshelf, both for $35.00.
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