Last week,Pages Turned dedicated a poem to Charlie Gibson and George Stephanopoulos. I thought that on this, the day before the primary of my semi-beloved home state, I'd put it up again:
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter—bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.
Plus, best last lines ever in a poem, except perhaps Wallace Stevens's "The Snow Man":
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
That one always gets me.