Larson’s Holstein Bull

jim-harrison

RIP Jim Harrison

Death waits inside us for a door to open.
Death is patient as a dead cat.
Death is a doorknob made of flesh.
Death is that angelic farm girl
gored by the bull on her way home
from school, crossing the pasture
for a shortcut. In the seventh grade
she couldn’t read or write. She wasn’t a virgin.
She was “simpleminded,” we all said.
It was May, a time of lilacs and shooting stars.
She’s lived in my memory for sixty years.
Death steals everything except our stories.

–Jim Harrison

Laron’s Holstein Bull by Jim Harrison from Hank Trefethen on Vimeo.

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Una respuesta a Larson’s Holstein Bull

  1. Qué aptas, esas palabras.

    En honor de Jim Harrison, esas lineas de Bukowski –

    “I carry death in my left pocket. Sometimes I take it out and talk to it: “Hello, baby, how you doing? When you coming for me? I’ll be ready.”

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