Everyday for breakfast
She had spoonfuls of sky
Nothing close or nearby
Ever seemed same again.
So in another land,
In some softly alien sea
They consent to band
In lithe experimental ties
With elongated limbs,
And buckled lungs,
Talking of walking water
Minus primness or miracle
Finding the sea suddenly
Small as a lapping pet,
Animated in assault,
Circling them for treats.
Then too soon, in ten or so days,
Their rules and goodbyes unsaid,
They fly; the red of an airline blanket
Flowers, in her lap, like a miscarriage.
James R. Kincaid, an English prof. at USC, has been writing in The Slate, and practically everywhere else, about how we are given to autom...
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Sunlight. arrogance sees, sleeps Now i understand: every thing you say. In the dark. heartbeat dee...
Friends and old neighbors shutting it down in honor of John Crawford. _
Today is the birthday of the best sister in the whole world (mine:)! Happy, Happy Birthday, Chelli! [AA, my favorite aunt in the whole wor...
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She knows that the child and his friend --another child-- read her words. She hides small messages of hope and love ...
Did the grown up thing and signed our wills today. Then I was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. All our year-long vacillations on the a...