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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431938" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Winter Stars</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My father once broke a man's hand<br>Over the exhaust pipe of a John Deere tractor. The man,<br>Ruben Vasquez, wanted to kill his own father<br>With a sharpened fruit knife, & he held<br>The curved tip of it, lightly, between his first<br>Two fingers, so it could slash<br>Horizontally, & with surprising grace,<br>Across a throat. It was like a glinting beak in a hand,<br>And, for a moment, the light held still<br>On those vines. When it was over,<br>My father simply went in & ate lunch, & then, as always,<br>Lay alone in the dark, listening to music.<br>He never mentioned it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I never understood how anyone could risk his life,<br>Then listen to Vivaldi.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes, I go out into this yard at night,<br>And stare through the wet branches of an oak<br>In winter, & realize I am looking at the stars<br>Again. A thin haze of them, shining<br>And persisting.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It used to make me feel lighter, looking up at them.<br>In California, that light was closer.<br>In a California no one will ever see again,<br>My father is beginning to die. Something<br>Inside him is slowly taking back<br>Every word it ever gave him.<br>Now, if we try to talk, I watch my father<br>Search for a lost syllable as if it might<br>Solve everything, & though he can't remember, now,<br>The word for it, he is ashamed...<br>If you think of the mind as a place continually<br>Visited, a whole city placed behind<br>The eyes, & shining, I can imagine, now, its end-<br>As when the lights go off, one by one,<br>In a hotel at night, until at last<br>All the travelers will be asleep, or until<br>Even the thin glow from the lobby is a kind<br>Of sleep; & while the woman behind the desk<br>Is applying more lacquer to her nails,<br>You can almost believe that the elevator,<br>As it ascends, must open upon starlight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I stand out on the street, & do not go in.<br>That was our agreement, at my birth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And for years I believed<br>That what went unsaid between us became empty,<br>And pure, like starlight, & that it persisted.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I got it all wrong.<br>I wound up believing in words the way a scientist<br>Believes in carbon, after death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tonight, I'm talking to you, father, although<br>It is quiet here in the Midwest, where a small wind,<br>The size of a wrist, wakes the cold again—<br>Which may be all that's left of you & me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I left home at seventeen, I left for good.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That pale haze of stars goes on & on,<br>Like laughter that has found a final, silent shape<br>On a black sky. It means everything<br>It cannot say. Look, it's empty out there, & cold.<br>Cold enough to reconcile<br>Even a father, even a son.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Larry+Levis">Larry Levis</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431938" data-title="Winter Stars de Larry Levis" data-description="My father once broke a man's hand
Over the exhaust pipe of a John Deere tractor. The man,
Ruben Vasquez, wanted to kill his own father
With a sharpened fruit knife, & he held
The curved tip of it, lightly, between his first
Two fingers, so it coul..."></div>
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