Monday, April 27, 2015


from "In the Van Gogh Room"
    by Traise Yamamoto




Winter pulls the body inward.
Tradition calls strongly, as if 
in the act of keeping the belly
warm and rolled tight, 
the milk in the coffee, the third
key on the ring, the touch
and smell of a lover
could become the familiar things of childhood.

Perhaps this is why Spring makes us sad--
we think it is a delicate attentive sorrow
for the small buds of tree;
but this June I realized it is because
Spring does not allow an inner life.
We are pulled from the body, 
begin to wonder if it is the promise
of shedding the weight of our own heat,
close, that leaves us without cause of notice


pulled out of this wonderful collection 
that I unearthed at a used book store recently. 


  1. this is a really lovely poem and the photos accompany it so well

  2. I love this poem xoxo :)

  3. this post is beautiful!
    bella xx