33

July 17, 2009

today i am 33.  it is hard to wrap my head around this number.  32 was easy, it felt like double 16: twice as giddy, twice as silly, twice as wide-eyed and optimistic, but 33 feels like i am moving farther away from youth which, i suppose, i am.  i just hope i can always hang on to the sense of wonder that has been my close companion for the past 33 years.  i love looking at the world and being amazed, stopped in my tracks, by how beautiful it can be, by how simply perfect moments as random as a thrushing breeze in the treetops can be.  i will try.  and i have to say how blessed i am on this birthday to have the most incredible friends.  great writers have written of communities of people where a sense of family exists despite differences, despite distance, and i have that.  i am the luckiest girl alive.

33–smashing pumpkins

speak to me in a language i can hear humour me
before i have to go
deep in thought i forgive everyone
as the cluttered streets greet me once again
i know i can’t be late, supper’s waiting on the table
tomorrow’s just an excuse away
so I pull my collar up and face the cold, on my own
the earth laughs beneath my heavy feet
at the blasphemy in my old jangly walk
steeple guide me to my heart and home
the sun is out and up and down again
i know i’ll make it, love can last forever
graceful swans of never topple to the earth
and you can make it last, forever you
you can make it last, forever you
and for a moment i lose myself
wrapped up in the pleasures of the world
i’ve journeyed here and there and back again

but in the same old haunts i still find my friends
mysteries not ready to reveal
sympathies i’m ready to return
i’ll make the effort, love can last forever
graceful swans of never topple to the earth
tomorrow’s just an excuse
and you can make it last, forever you
you can make it last, forever you

Advertisements

her kind

July 3, 2009

'her kind,' anne sexton
i have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.