The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet... Read more »
My father told me once that when he was about twenty he had a new girlfriend, and once they stopped by the house on the way to somewhere, just a quick stop to pick something up, and my grandfather, who wasn’t well— it turned out he had TB and would die at fifty-two——was sitting in... Read more »
A siren goes by, the scream cuts through me even though my child is home. For a moment I think… Where am I? In the middle of the night a cry, dreamed or heard, a wave washes over the body of my child. I have let her drown or fall. She has fallen from a... Read more »
In the month of May when all leaves open, I see when I walk how well all things lean on each other, how the bees work, the fish make their living the first day. Monarchs fly high; then I understand I love you with what in me is unfinished. I love you with what in... Read more »
Your beauty, nude not naked on the bed, is far more a gift than I ever expected. I watch languor recline 1n your wise grey eyes while slate hummingbirds carved as earrings dangle from golden hooks. I quiver in your breath and the ceiling fan halts in that instant. We look at one another with... Read more »
After an absence that was no one’s fault we are shy with each other, and our words seem younger than we are, as if we must return to the time we met and work ourselves back to the present, the way you never read a story from the place you stopped but always start each... Read more »