A Novelist's Eye
The way Belgium has peeled from the map
convinces me you have powers.
All those Brueghels in limbo--
could Paris, seat of abstractions,
be next? The slick of your eye
and trembling of your mouth suggest
emotions you'd rather not feel.
There goes Luxembourg, easy prey.
The cathedral once impressed me,
and the clean streets. But you,
with a novelist's eye for detail,
have censored the wine shops, felled
trees that remember the last world war.
The map's lacy and webbed. The cries
of orphans tinkle like scrap.
Am I next? You open room
after room to reveal the cruelest
scenarios, some pornographic,
and I have nowhere to run because
you've stripped all Europe to expose
the embarrassing lack of bedrock
lying beneath a culture we've loved.
The views expressed in The Oklahoma Review do not necessarily correspond to those of Cameron University, and the university's support of this magazine should not be seen as an endorsement of any philosophy other than faith in -- and support of -- free expression. The content of this publication may not be reproduced without the written consent of The Oklahoma Review or the authors. © 2008 The Oklahoma Review