Monday, June 25, 2012
sandra cisneros
and when he loves, gives himself body and soul. none of this fooling around. a love so complete you have to be ready for it. courageous. put on your seat belt, sweets. a ride to the finish. so bad it aches.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
today
one time he wanted to be a bird
by mekeel mcbride
this happened near the end of a long winter.
his bird-wanting got stronger and stronger
like a pond getting big water from somewhere else.
the way you come back from sleep
with real kisses still warm on your forehead
from someone you love thousands of miles away.
one day he wakes with red wings, no words
and an infinite love of wind. his wife is not
surprised. she opens the window. she sends after him
a hyacinth-scented kiss. over snow-capped
backyard barbecues and stalled autos, cold dogs
and sealed-shut cemeteries he flies.
old woman guarding her husband who wanders
through coma alone; telephone repairman
with handfuls of broken wires in his cold hand,
these are only a few of the ones who see him flying-
wild, wind-tossed rose in dead weather.
and feel a small part of the lost heart return.
enough, just enough. does he know this happens?
he knows open sky. he knows being weightless
in the wind. later, it's not that he stops wanting
to be a bird. he could have lived forever in that red body.
but he misses his wife, woman with a soul full of
portuguese sunlight, window-opener, kisses
like red hibiscus. so he goes back to being a man.
and that, he thinks, is just as good as flying,
though not the same. but look carefully and
sometimes you will see how he carries inside himself
the mad happiness of trees shaken by spring storms,
the pollen-maps of rapturous bees.
by mekeel mcbride
this happened near the end of a long winter.
his bird-wanting got stronger and stronger
like a pond getting big water from somewhere else.
the way you come back from sleep
with real kisses still warm on your forehead
from someone you love thousands of miles away.
one day he wakes with red wings, no words
and an infinite love of wind. his wife is not
surprised. she opens the window. she sends after him
a hyacinth-scented kiss. over snow-capped
backyard barbecues and stalled autos, cold dogs
and sealed-shut cemeteries he flies.
old woman guarding her husband who wanders
through coma alone; telephone repairman
with handfuls of broken wires in his cold hand,
these are only a few of the ones who see him flying-
wild, wind-tossed rose in dead weather.
and feel a small part of the lost heart return.
enough, just enough. does he know this happens?
he knows open sky. he knows being weightless
in the wind. later, it's not that he stops wanting
to be a bird. he could have lived forever in that red body.
but he misses his wife, woman with a soul full of
portuguese sunlight, window-opener, kisses
like red hibiscus. so he goes back to being a man.
and that, he thinks, is just as good as flying,
though not the same. but look carefully and
sometimes you will see how he carries inside himself
the mad happiness of trees shaken by spring storms,
the pollen-maps of rapturous bees.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
oh my goodness oh my goodness.
this artist, marco mazzoni, is incredible. i can't believe these fleshy, visceral images are achieved with just colored pencils. those mouths!
this artist, marco mazzoni, is incredible. i can't believe these fleshy, visceral images are achieved with just colored pencils. those mouths!
Monday, October 31, 2011
"once upon a time there was a boy who lived in a house across the field from a girl who no longer exists. they made up a thousand games. she was queen and he was king. in the autumn light, her hair shone like a crown. they collected the world in small handfuls. when the sky grew dark they parted with leaves in their hair."
-nicole krauss
-nicole krauss
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
