Homework again... but it's so good!

O EVERYTHING GOES BLACK
by Katie Ford

A pattern on the back of my eyelid coils like a fingerprint, I made
a mistake, it is not my own. The blood up between my eyes, I can't see.
I sit between people, between pillars of the cathedral between
which the immaculate spreads her blue-sleeves into as much sky
as there is. Small blue lights edge the church and the eyeless Christ hangs,
his sockets darkening into shaded tombs. Darkness coiling,
my eyes coiling, a wind with sand in it scrolling up and down
a body, hiding that body until it could be anyone, and is.
Even whom I do not live with I live with now. Don't say I don't
speak to you: I speak to you.

Mud Season

Slumdog Millionaire

I finally saw "Slumdog Millionaire" last night. Everyone had been telling me that I would love it, but I thought that it was already out of the theaters so I had given up hope of seeing it before it was released on DVD. But miracle of miracles it was still playing in a theater nearby and I SAW IT!

And it was really wonderful.

It's filmed so artistically that it would be beautiful to watch even if it had a terrible plot and characters, and MIA did a lot of the soundtrack, which made me extremely happy.

I loved the kids; I loved two hours of voices talking with musical, beautiful accents; I loved the overwhelming color and movement, and the huge crowds of people, that portray India so perfectly to me; I especially loved the scene in which Salim was refiling and resealing water bottles to sell to unknowing tourists.

Anyway, I thought it was fantastic.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-e.e. cummings

On a rainy night

I miss someone...

I'm just not really sure who.

Warm whispers

Something I discovered while doing homework...

Perhaps the World Ends Here
by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

February