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Charles Simic - A Book Full of Pictures

Father studied theology through the mail
And this was exam time.
Mother knitted. I sat quietly with a book
Full of pictures. Night fell.
My hands grew cold touching the faces
Of dead kings and queens.

There was a black raincoat
      in the upstairs bedroom
Swaying from the ceiling,
But what was it doing there?
Mother's long needles made quick crosses.
They were black
Like the inside of my head just then.

The pages I turned sounded like wings.
"The soul is a bird," he once said.
In my book full of pictures
A battle raged: lances and swords
Made a kind of wintry forest
With my heart spiked and bleeding in its branches.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 3658 times | Comments and analysis of A Book Full of Pictures by Charles Simic Comments (0)

A Book Full of Pictures - Comments and Information

Poet: Charles Simic
Poem: A Book Full of Pictures
Volume: Hotel Insomnia
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