‘The Dark’

On February 17th of that year

(1945, it was a Saturday)

I was wearing my birthday watch and I

ran like hell between the raindrops

unaware that even a secret wish is in a way

a contract. That afternoon

I was sporting a

huge red cap which seen from afar

gave me the appearance

of a ladybug riding an ant

to an all-cartoon matinee.

Upstairs over the theatre was

a beauty parlor, Madeleine’s, where

ladies sat under the driers like popes

perusing Cosmopolitan and McCall’s, my mom

who had not yet become Ma among them.

Checking the time, the show

already on, I stroked

my imitation-leather wristband and

as pride of possession made way

for the joy of being possessed

stepped into the dark.

   This poem is from David G. Rattray’s collection “Opening the Eyelid,” published in 1990. Mr. Rattray, the uncle of David E. Rattray, the editor of The Star, was an important translator of French Surrealist poets. On the 20th anniversary of his death, he was honored over the weekend in Manhattan with readings at the Leo Koenig Gallery and the St. Mark’s Poetry Project.