#Americans #Jews #Women
Letting the mind go, letting the pen, the breath, the movement of images in & ou… of the mouth go calm, go rhythmic
Boswell– you old rake– I have tri… your style; but it is no use; my d… all between my selves: and though… make endless notes and jottings th… my memory– it is in vain– for in t…
Goddess, I come to you my neck wreathed with rosebuds, my head filled with visions of inf… my palms open to your silver nails… my eyes open to your rays of illum…
Dear Colette, I want to write to you about being a woman for that is what you write to me. I want to tell you how your face
You gave me the child that seamed my belly & stitched up my life. You gave me: one book of love poem… five years of peace
The first snow of the year & you lying between my breasts in my husband’s house & the snow gently rising in my… like guilt,
Nature will bear the closest inspe… —Thoreau The raspberries in my driveway have always
The man giving birth in the dark has died & come back to life again, is stretching out his arms
"...a frozen memory, like any p… where nothing is missing, not even… and especially, nothingness..."… —Julio Cortázar, “Blow Up” Mirror-mad,
‘Why do you have stripes in your forehead, Mama? Are you
At the furthermost reach of the se… where Atlantis sinks under the wak… I have come to heal my life. I knit together like a broken arm. The salt fills the crevices of bon…
If it is only for the taking off– the velvet cloak, the ostrich feather boa, the dress which slithers to the fl… with the sound of strange men sigh…
We used to strike sparks off each other. Our eyes would meet or our hands, & the blue lightning of love
I sit in the black leather chair meditating on the plume of smoke that rises in the air, riffling the pages of my life
I began by loving women & the love turned to bitterness. My mother, the bitter, whose bitter lesson–