No, I do not weep at the world –I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.–Zora Neale Hurston,from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me”in, World Tomorrow (1928) Daddy was known in our backwoods holler as Deacon. When he got up on his stump near Heron River’s shady cool banks, folks gathered; no…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery — The Sound of Water
“Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.”–from Jo Harjo’s “A Map to the Next World.” Gil woke curled in a dark place, lying on her side, hearing the sound of trickling water. Opening her eyes, she felt dried crusted tears breaking loose. Her wrists were bound behind her….
dVerse — Prosery — Mother’s Embrace
taken by my older son on 050921 “Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things? – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.” “Clear!” It’s the last thing I hear before everything goes blank. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m conscious again; yet…
dVerse — Prosery — Portal
If you are a dreamer, come in. –Shel Silverstein, from Invitation At ten, it was screamed epithets and the rhythmic crack of dad’s belt on her back as she curled on the filthy floor. At twenty, it was the sound of her drunken boyfriend’s fist crunching fine bones in her face. At thirty, it was…
dVerse — Prosery — The Last Word
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibilitythat existence has its own reason for being.— Wisława Szymborska, “Possibilities” We were committed tree-huggers, yet we were scientists first. Space-X and Amazon Foundation sponsored our team to study the White Mountain bristlecone pines to figure out how to mimic their hardiness via gene engineering. Humankind’s hourglass had…
dVerse — Prosery 21 — Sailor’s Song
I went out to the hazel wood / Because a fire was in my head.–from The Song of Wandering Aengus, by William Butler Yeats Leather felt strange on my feet again after six months, mirroring the feeling of stepping on dry land again. Circling gulls seemed to laugh at me as I navigated through the…
dVerse — Prosery 20 — Hungry
Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,by Mary Oliver, from from Spring Azures from the book Wild Geese Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, especially on the nights I hear them, moaning and scratching at the windows. It’s the coldest January on record. I’ve unlocked the outbuilding,…
