Spring 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1997 |

Mummy’s Curse

Befriending an eccentric young woman, The sole resident of a secluded country house. She's taking a long walk in the evening mist, And so am I, my hair full of fallen leaves. In her former life she was an opera singer. She remembers the rich Neapolitan pastries, Shows me a bit of fresh whipped cream In the corner of her red mouth, Tells me she dragged a wooden cross once Through a leper town in India. I was born in Copenhagen, I confide to her in turn. My father was a successful mortician. My mother never raised her head from a book. Arthur Schopenhauer ruined our happy home. Since then, I always sleep with a silencer Of a loaded revolver inside my mouth. She had gone a little way ahead and turned Towering like a lion tamer, whip in hand. Luckily, in that moment, the mummy sped by On a bicycle carrying someone's pizza order And cursing the mist and the rain.

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

The Wake

By Charles Simic

Befriending an eccentric young woman, The sole resident of a secluded country house. She's taking a long walk in the evening mist, And so am I, my hair full of […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.