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Slowing tranquility
You have learned to enjoy the attribute of patience in itself, for it slows time, honors tranquility, and lets you savor a world in which you are clearly aware that your passage is but a brief candle. – Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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Pain is a gift.
When you were boys we ended every dinner cooked outside on the grill by toasting marshmallows. One day last year I found the perfect sticks at the supermarket. How could I not think of you? Long dowels with pointed ends wrapped in a plastic bag, despite their intended purpose they were made just for getting the marshmallows past the lip of the kettle deep towards the orange and grey coals. I bought them, brought them home. Even though I live alone. They sit, on top of my fridge, out of sight. But when I do catch a glimpse of them you’re with me, even for just a moment. – Posted…
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From Adrienne Rich’s “Twenty-One Love Poems”
No one’s fated or doomed to love anyone. The accidents happen, we’re not heroines, they happen in our lives like car crashes, books that change us, neighborhoods we move into and come to love. Tristan und Isolde is scarcely the story, women at least should know the difference between love and death. No poison cup, no penance. Merely a notion that the tape-recorder should have caught some ghost of us: that tape-recorder not merely played but should have listened to us, and could instruct those after us: this we were, this is how we tried to love, and there are the forces they had ranged against us, and these are…
