Here's a girl from a dangerous town <br /> She crops her dark hair short <br /> so that less of her has to frown <br /> when someone gets hurt. <br /> <br /> She folds her memories like a parachute. <br /> Dropped, she collects the peat <br /> and cooks her veggies at home: they shoot <br /> here where they eat. <br /> <br /> Ah, there's more sky in these parts than, say, <br /> ground. Hence her voice's pitch, <br /> and her stare stains your retina like a gray <br /> bulb when you switch <br /> <br /> hemispheres, and her knee-length quilt <br /> skirt's cut to catch the squall, <br /> I dream of her either loved or killed <br /> because the town's too small.<br /><br />Joseph Brodsky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/belfast-tune/
