We are made of waiting– — Nick Flynn, from “Drones,” Blind Huber (Graywolf Press, 2002) Advertisements
The music carves hot petals through our bodies in its ritual of tides and light; licks us open from the inside until we are night-blooming jasmine seduced by the moon. — Lorie Howe, from “High Plains Solstice,” Cloudshade (Sastrugi Press, 2015)
Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them. ― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind. (Grand Central Publishing; Reprint edition April 1, 1999) Originally published 1936.
Maybe this is what it means to be alive on earth, alive on earth and nothing more. — Eliza Browning, from “Primer for the Smaller Things,” L’Éphémère Review (no. 13, Summer 2019)
I already knew this immense tenderness, which is only the last degree of sorrow… I knew then, already, that the intimacy of things is death. — Georges Bataille, L’Impossible, translation by Robert Hurley. (Editions de Minuit, April 1, 1962) Originally published 1947.
Vanish. Pass into nothingness: the Keats line that frightened her. Fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. Go back into the blue. I myself placed her ashes in the wall. I myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. I know what it is I am now experiencing. I know what… Continue reading Joan Didion
[I]n all my poems I undress my heart. — Julia de Burgos, from “To Julia de Burgos,” Song of the Simple Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos (Curbstone Books, 1997)