Eva Knott 3:30 p.m., July 17
- Charles Hughes
Two poems by Charles Hughes
Lawyer turned poet
Arthur and Guenevere in the Dark
- It’s possible she loves him less today
- Than yesterday. Could be he’s changed. Could be
- He’s failed to. Maybe — hypothetically —
- She’s been transported by another love.
- He knows what he’s afraid of but can’t say:
- A king — a good king — must remain above
- All cowardice and bullying. It’s late.
- The King and Queen lie side by side and wide
- Awake. The rising night will not elide
- His daily doubts; she works the miracle.
- Touching his cheek, she says, “I love you.” Fate —
- Sensing uncertainty — tempers its chill.
- He’ll sleep more peacefully than he’s slept in weeks.
- Again she says, “I love you.” And again.
- He’s breathing in her words like oxygen.
- He’ll sleep — he’ll dream — until the morning speaks.
- for Bunny on our 40th wedding anniversary
- Simon and Garfunkel are singing out
- Somebody else’s window into mine.
- The day is a fall feast, the song red wine
- Matched well with what the dying colors shout.
- Love lives, love dies in “April Come She Will.”
- The song will end. Your dorm is not too far.
- We’ll walk to supper. Death will seem bizarre —
- That love itself could die impossible.
- The first, sparse yellows seasoning the grass
- Recall the moment of our college days,
- When music, turning leaves, sharp outside air
- Lent death a real presence it still has
- For me — it’s been my long-budding malaise,
- Which time has shown won’t flower while you are there.