I am the sun and moon and forever hungry the sharpened edge where day and night shall meet and not be one. — Audre Lorde, from “From the House of Yemanjá,” The Black Unicorn: Poems. (W. W. Norton & Company; Reissue edition, August 17, 1995) Originally published 1978. Advertisements
…we grope through languages and hesitate and touch each other, speechless and amazed; and every day our bodies separate us farther from our planned, deliberate ironic lives. — Marilyn Hacker, Love, Death, And The Changing Of The Seasons. (W. W. Norton & Company; Reprint edition, March 17, 1995)
Somewhere along the fault line lays the preposterous idea that I forgive myself. — Tara Hardy, from “Along the Fault Line,” Bring Down the Chandeliers. (Write Bloody Publishing, April 22, 2014)
Listen, there was a day before you were yourself. There will be a day after. This is what is called eternity. It’s the only thing we get to keep forever. — Tara Hardy, from “Day Before You Were Yourself,” My, My, My, My, My. (Write Bloody Publishing, November 15, 2016)
Her blue dress is a silk train is a river is water seeps into the cobblestone streets of my sleep, is still raining is monsoon brocade, is winter stars stitched into puddles is good-bye in a flooded, antique room, is good-bye in a room of crystal bowls and crystal cups, is the ring-ting-ring of water… Continue reading Saeed Jones
Sonnet IV I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year; And you must welcome from another part Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear. No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing; And I have… Continue reading Edna St. Vincent Millay
I know I am but summer to your heart / And not the full four seasons of the year. ― Edna St. Vincent Millay, from “Sonnet IV,” The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems. (Kessinger Publishing, LLC, July 26, 2004) Originally published 1920.