Poetry and Lyrics

“What do you think of this?”

Carolyn looked up from where she was fiddling with a lock. “What do you mean by ‘this’?”

Scott rolled over and waved a book at her. The other three were asleep, and it was the best chance he had to talk to her without annoying Bob. After what had happened with Clay, Bob was a little leery of any of the rest of his brothers spending too much time with Carolyn. She’d grown up and grown prettier in the year since she’d been away; Scott wouldn’t deny that. But...she was Bob’s, and that was that. Clay liking her must have been some weird twin thing.

“Listen.” He cleared his throat, then began to read.

“ ‘While life endures we'll love,
and afterwards,
if what they say is true,
I'll be refused a Heaven
crammed with popes,
policemen, fundamentalists,
and burn instead,
quite happily,
with Sappho, Michelangelo
and you, my love.

I'd burn throughout eternity
with you.’”

Carolyn set down the lock, tilted her head to the side.

Scott peered at her anxiously, but she didn’t say anything, and the silence was beginning to unnerve him. “Did you like it?”

She lifted her head and smiled at him. “That was beautiful. But where did you get a copy of The Mirror of Love?”

Scott peered at the cover of the book. “Found it at a used bookstore while we were wandering around York. Why?”

“No reason. Just...don’t let your dad get ahold of it.” Carolyn rested her chin on her hands and gazed up at him, and for just one moment, Scott knew why Clay had kissed her. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had looked at him like this, as if she could read the words printed on his soul. “I didn’t realize you liked poetry.”

Scott shrugged, a little defensively. “It’s good help for lyrics.”

“It definitely would be.” Carolyn hummed thoughtfully. “Moore’s pretty good, for a guy who usually writes comics. If you want something a little more esoteric, maybe try some Eliot.”

“Eliot who?” Scott asked. He reached for the ragged notebook that Bob usually kept in his jacket, the lyric notebook all of them shared. He was keeping a list of poems and poetry that he liked that might be useful later.

“Thomas Stearns Eliot, actually.” Carolyn tossed her head to get the hair out of her eyes. “Try this on for size:

‘For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?’”

Scott blinked. “You know that from memory?”

“Some poetry here and there.” Carolyn scooted up onto the couch next to him. “What else have you read?”

(478 words; first quote from Alan Moore's "Mirror of Love", second from T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock")