The Things, Donald Hall

THE THINGS By Donald Hall • • • • When I walk in my house I see pictures,bought long ago, framed and hanging—de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore—that I’ve cherished and stared at for years,yet my eyes keep returning to the mastersof the trivial: a white stone perfectly round,tiny lead models of baseball players, a […]

Continue reading →

In the Summer Kitchen, Donald Hall

In June’s high light she stood at the sink With a glass of wine, And listened for the bobolink, And crushed garlic in late sunshine. I watched her cooking, from my chair. She pressed her lips Together, reached for kitchenware, And tasted sauce from her fingertips. “It’s ready now. Come on,” she said. “You light […]

Continue reading →