Oh sometimes I see her undressing for me, she’s the soft naked lady love meant her to be and she’s moving her body so brave and so free. If I’ve got to remember that’s a fine memory. — Leonard Cohen, from “Tonight Will Be Fine,” Songs from a Room (Columbia, 1969)
I have nothing to give you, nothing to carry, some words to make me less afraid, to say you gave me this. Memory insists with its sea voice, muttering from its bone cave. Memory wraps us like the shell wraps the sea. Nothing to carry, some stones to fill our pockets, to give weight to… Continue reading Anne Michaels
This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year’s threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath… — Margaret Atwood, from “Shapechangers in Winter,” Eating Fire: Selected Poetry 1965-1995. (Virago Press Ltd October 1, 1998)
Beneath My Hands Beneath my hands your small breasts are the upturned bellies of breathing fallen sparrows. Wherever you move I hear the sounds of closing wings of falling wings. I am speechless because you have fallen beside me because your eyelashes are the spines of tiny fragile animals. I dread the time when your… Continue reading Leonard Cohen
Sometimes suffering is just suffering,” she told Gus. “It doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t build character. It only hurts. ― Kate Jacobs, Comfort Food. (G. P. Putnam’s Sons; 1st edition, May 6, 2008)
Moon, night after night rehearsing shades of pause and spill, sifting into reed beds, silvering the fine hairs of your arms, making rhythm out of light and nothing, making months. What have I ever made of life or it of me? — Don McKay, from “Lift,” Angular Unconformity: Collected Poems 1970-2014 (Icehouse Poetry, 2014)
I’ve come home in love with loneliness. — L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea. (Laurel Leaf, July 1, 1984) Originally published 1909.