"The Ritualists" by William Carlos Williams
In May, approaching the city, I
saw men fishing in the backwash
between the slips, where at the time
no ship lay. But though I stood
watching long enough, I didn't see
one of them catch anything
more than quietness, to the formal
rhythms of casting---that slow dance.
(H/T Scott Keenan)
I apologize for being a day late on the poem, but I was in Columbus with my Mom yesterday apartment shopping. I also got to see my big April, which was marvelous. I am 99.9% sure I have secured one; am dealing with monetary means and looking at cars now. Graduating is expensive!
It is really, really, really good to be home, though. Lots of sibling time, lots of parents time, lots of Heidi time and lots of cousin time. I had brunch with my friend Monica today, which was so lovely. She and I went to Ursuline together. She went to IU and has been studying abroad in France. She's now going into Teach For America down in the Mississippi Delta. I've promised to visit only if we get to go crawdaddy fishing.