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This title in other editions
Walking to Martha's Vineyardby Franz Wright
"Walking to Marthas Vineyard"
And the ocean smells like lilacs in late August-how
The light there muted (silver) as remembered light.
Do you have any children?
No, lucky for them.
Bad things happen when you get hands, dolphin.
Can you tell us a little bit about your upbringing?
There is no down or up in space or in the womb.
If theyd stabbed me to death on the day I was born, it
would have been an act of mercy.
Like the light the last room, the windowless room at the
end, must look out on. Gold-tinged, blue
vapor trail breaking up now like the white line you see,
after driving all day, when your eyes close;
vapor trail breaking up now between huge clouds resembling
a kind of Mt. Rushmore of your parents faces.
And these untraveled windy back roads here-cotton
leaves blowing past me, in the long blue
if I am on an island, how is it they go on forever.
This sky like an infinite tenderness, I have caught
glimpses of that, often, so often, and never yet have
I described it, I cant, somehow, I never will.
How is it that I didnt spend my whole life being happy, loving
other human beings faces.
And wave after wave, the ocean smells like lilacs in
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