Dec 10, 2002
There have been delicate moments in today. Reminders of things that once made my heart race. Heralds of future quickening. Faint breaths of beauty. A line. An inkling. A desire for the savory over the sweet. An appreciation for certain brands of unpleasantness. An understanding of my own shortcomings and where I always manage to steer it wrong. I am almost always looking in a mirror. Not because I am enamored. But rather because I am curious. And accusatory. I am at fault for whatever was lacking. I am the reason it's never enough. I am serving out my sentence with the slightly sweet remainder of dying flowers and a bottomless glass of a very bitter drink.
Was I ever lovely? Was I ever wonderful? Was the fascination false all along? Or did it falter?
This has been a season of withholding. I wonder whether crowds will be bowled over when it's time to turn things loose again.
When my writing goes all cryptic-like, I know there are demons to contend with. It is easier to speak in poems when the ugliness is churning. There are beautiful ways of saying very ugly things.
posted by Mary Forrest at 4:35 AM | Back to Monoblog