Short Talk on Pain

Lawns  and  fields  and  hills  and  wide  old   velvet
sleeves, green things.  They stretch, fold, roll away,
unfurl  and  calm the  eye.  Look  lush  in paintings.
Battles are fought on greens.  Or  you could spread
a meal  and  sup.  How  secretly  they  lie,  floors  of
distant forests.  Next  comes  the grave,  in  many a
poem about green. But this is not a poem. This is a
billboard for frozen green peas.  Frozen green peas
are good for pain.

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“This box is for a statement about the Poem.
Surely a poem is what remains unboxed.
And although the first sentence above may sound merely procedural,
yet you see its necessity for appreciating the second sentence.
On the untidy border between those two
lies everything you want the Day to give you.
I hope it does.”
—Anne Carson