Mary Ruefle

Talking to Strangers

Do you see sun spots? A strong, terrible love where

there isn’t any? A demoiselle crane talking to a lama

duck? Very interesting, but there’s nothing in it.

Some people take electric roses and plant them in a field

to bring the field down to earth.

There’s nothing wrong with that. Put down your book.

Look at me when I talk to you. I’m the oxygen mask

that comes dangling down in a plane.

I’m here to help you be garrulous.

I’m not interested in your family—not your mother,

father, brother, sister, son, daughter, lover or

dog. In France, they used to kill themselves if

a dinner party went wrong. That’s a great idea.

Are you interested in orphan-types who turn out

to be kings, or kings who come to nothing?

What’s the difference between watching and looking?

Doff your garb. I’m sorry, but the loggerhead turtles

off the Carolina coast are leaving for Africa tonight.

Would you like an ice cold pear instead?

Walking into the store is like entering

the delicate refrain of a Christmas poem.

What more could you want? Siddhartha said

someone who brushes against you in the street

has shared an experience with you for five hundred lives.

Can bottles bobbing on the open sea

be said to move at all?

Mary Ruefle

Mary Ruefle's latest book is The Most of It (Wave Books, 2008). Her Selected Poems is forthcoming.


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