Wednesday, November 11, 2009

once the last absolutes were torn to pieces...

November 1968

you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of brushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials

You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary color
once the last absolutes were torn to pieces
you could begin

How you broke open, what sheathed you
until this moment
I know nothing about it
my ignorance of you amazes me
now that I watch you
starting to give yourself away
to the wind

-Adrienne Rich

This is my November poem. Thank you for writing, Adrienne Rich. For daring us to begin once we tear the last absolutes to pieces, once we shed our hefty layers. Your truth is magic to my ears.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

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