A Certain Village

Once in late summer,

the road already deep in twilight,

mixing colors with some straggly

wildflowers, I came to a village

I did not know was there

until

I stepped into its narrow street.

Admiring the prim, white houses

nestled among their veteran,

lofty trees,

I found myself in

a tiny square with a little dawdl-

ing fountain and a rickety tower,

its owlish clock absentmindedly

counting minutes now and then.

And in the fountain the face

of morning seemed to linger as

though searching. The air was fresh,

breathing out the fragrances

of a recent shower.

I luxuriated

in my senses, like meeting

unexpectedly a pack of friends

years and years unthought of, laden

with all kinds of gifts.

Then

as I stopped to knock at the door

of a house that had seemed occupied

with happy noises, a silence

fell on it,

the light went out—

and was it instant eyes like flakes,

ten thousand, thousand flakes,

and all unknowing, flurried

round me?

Wherever I turned

I was met by the unmistakable

accusation, “Stranger!” I, who had,

I thought, begun here and who now

required lodgings

for the night,

was denied and from the start.

Copyright Credit: Theodore Weiss, “A Certain Village” from Selected Poems, published by TriQuarterly Books/Northwestern University Press, 1995. Copyright © 1995 by Theodore Weiss. All rights reserved; reprinted with the permission of Northwestern University Press, www.nupress.northwestern.edu.

Source: Selected Poems (1995)