American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Dramatic Monologue · Excerpt · Fragment · Passage · Poetry


We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.

— Ai, from “Conversation,” Vice: New and Selected Poems. (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1999)

2 thoughts on “Ai

    1. Thank you. I love Ai. Have been reading her for several years. I am in hopes everyone can find new authors & poets they may not have known before. I intentionally try to mix it up, though sometimes I get into these moods, and my posts becomes a thread of how I am feeling.

      Liked by 1 person

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