American Life in Poetry: They Dance Through Granelli’s
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Pat Emile, who served as assistant editor to American Life in Poetry for over a decade, was described by past editor, Ted Kooser, as the “Jill-Of-All-Trades for this column.”
I was fortunate enough to enjoy her sensitive ear for the rightly tuned poem, and her generosity as a liaison with poets, publishers and our collaborating periodicals, as a necessary component of the training for my tenure.
It all makes sense, as Pat Emile is, herself, a poet of fine taste, lovely insight and, as evidenced in this poem (from column 580), “They Dance Through Granelli’s”, a poet with a remarkable eye for sensual detail. T
hank you, Pat, for all you have done for American Life in Poetry, and for your gift of delightful verse. Her poem is a fit way to start this exciting re-launch of ALiP!
They Dance Through Granelli’s By Pat Emile
He finds her near the stack of green plastic baskets waiting to be filled and circles her waist with his left arm, entwines her fingers in his, pulls her toward him, Muzak from the ceiling shedding a flashy Salsa, and as they begin to move, she lets her head fall back, fine hair swinging a beat behind as they follow their own music—a waltz—past the peaches bursting with ripeness in their wicker baskets, the prawns curled into each other behind cold glass, a woman in a turquoise sari, her dark eyes averted. They twirl twice before the imported cheeses, fresh mozzarella in its milky liquid, goat cheese sent down from some green mountain, then glide past ranks of breads, seeds spread across brown crusts, bottles of red wine nested together on their sides. He reaches behind her, slides a bouquet of cut flowers from a galvanized bucket, tosses a twenty to the teenaged boy leaning on the wooden counter, and they whirl out the door, the blue sky a sudden surprise.
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Pat Emile, who served as assistant editor to American Life in Poetry for over a decade, was described by past editor, Ted Kooser, as the “Jill-Of-All-Trades for this column.”
I was fortunate enough to enjoy her sensitive ear for the rightly tuned poem, and her generosity as a liaison with poets, publishers and our collaborating periodicals, as a necessary component of the training for my tenure.
It all makes sense, as Pat Emile is, herself, a poet of fine taste, lovely insight and, as evidenced in this poem (from column 580), “They Dance Through Granelli’s”, a poet with a remarkable eye for sensual detail. T
hank you, Pat, for all you have done for American Life in Poetry, and for your gift of delightful verse. Her poem is a fit way to start this exciting re-launch of ALiP!
They Dance Through Granelli’s By Pat Emile
He finds her near the stack of green plastic baskets waiting to be filled and circles her waist with his left arm, entwines her fingers in his, pulls her toward him, Muzak from the ceiling shedding a flashy Salsa, and as they begin to move, she lets her head fall back, fine hair swinging a beat behind as they follow their own music—a waltz—past the peaches bursting with ripeness in their wicker baskets, the prawns curled into each other behind cold glass, a woman in a turquoise sari, her dark eyes averted. They twirl twice before the imported cheeses, fresh mozzarella in its milky liquid, goat cheese sent down from some green mountain, then glide past ranks of breads, seeds spread across brown crusts, bottles of red wine nested together on their sides. He reaches behind her, slides a bouquet of cut flowers from a galvanized bucket, tosses a twenty to the teenaged boy leaning on the wooden counter, and they whirl out the door, the blue sky a sudden surprise.
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