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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447960" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Five For Country Music</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. Insomnia</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bulb at the front door burns and burns.<br>If it were a white rose it would tire of blooming<br>through another endless night. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon knows the routine;<br>it beats the bushes from east to west<br>and sets empty-handed. Again the one<br>she is waiting for has outrun the moon. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. Old Money</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The spotted hands shake as they polish the coins. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shiny penny goes under the tongue,<br>the two silver pieces<br>weighted by pyramids<br>will shut down the eyes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the rest is paper,<br>useless in any world but this. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. Home Movie</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She knows that walk, that whistle, that knock. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's the black wolf who sticks<br>his floured paw underneath the door. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She tries not to open. One look at his face<br>and she'll drop the gun. He will pick it up<br>and turn it on her where she waits,<br>her eyes shining, her hands over her head. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV. Golden Boy</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whitewashed, the eyes refuse you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so the mouth must be serene,<br>the muscles play, the body<br>take an easy stance </div><div style="margin:10px 0">to divert you from the two<br>boarded-up chambers<br>where someone has died. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V. Washing Day</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each year her laundry line gets lighter.<br>One by one they disappear,<br>ten little Indians. They take their socks,<br>their jeans, their stiff plaid shirts. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Above the Ford on its concrete blocks,<br>striped and zippered,<br>her cotton dress flutters on and on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lisel+Mueller">Lisel Mueller</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=447960" data-title="Five For Country Music de Lisel Mueller" data-description="I. Insomnia

The bulb at the front door burns and burns.
If it were a white rose it would tire of blooming
through another endless night. 

The moon knows the routine;
it beats the bushes from east to west
and sets empty-handed. Again the one
she ..."></div>
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