POEMS AND NO NEWS FROM VENEZUELA

          So far, the proportion of Venezuelan to American readers of this blog is 1 to 477. On the other hand, my one lost Venezuelan is the only soul in all of South America to wander here; I hope this makes her (or him, or it) quietly proud.

TWO SIDES

                             I

So slow the change; there was no second

On which I could have tapped my foot

Saying on one side “And now I am his”

And on the other “And now I am my own.”

The weather grew colder; that’s all

Until I knew he no longer stood

Between the north wind and me.

                             II

When my soul was lost I could

Have pilgrimmed forth to find her

Or slept easy, free of the weight

Of her regard for me.

I took, instead, a room in town

And gathered scraps and bits

Trying to make a new one.