Tuesday, February 08, 2005
The Shining Throne Sutra
I am playing games with the humidity; guessing the right size of the kitchen cabinets; drowsing by a torn kite on the football field; pasting diet schedules on my backyard fence.
I am shining thrones for the mystery play; working off a hangover by classifying socks, disorienting bats by clapping my hands, increasing my output for diminishing returns.
I am flouting the rules for long-period events; feeling nauseous on a beach in Cancùn; lambasting clowns at my niece's day-care; earthing the static in your new corduroys.
I am celebrating crosshairs over laser-lock sights; making a dog's breakfast of my first drama class; writing 'buff' when I mean 'suspension'; responding to condolences with your marriage stationery.
I am eating dates and regretting the cheese; crying at jazz tunes in peak hour traffic; re-evaluating the effects of my long awaited birth; tying up prospects with my probing sales questions.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
"How would you like to live in Looking-glass House, Kitty? I wonder if they'd give you milk, there? Perhaps Looking-glass milk isn't good to drink -- but oh, Kitty! now we come to the passage. You can just see a little peep of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the door of our passage as far as you can see, only you know it may be quite different on beyond. Oh, Kitty! how nice it would be if we could only get through into Looking-glass House! I'm sure it's got, oh! such beautiful things in it! Let's pretend there's a way of getting through into it somehow, Kitty. Let's pretend the glass has got soft like gauze, so that we can get through. Why, it's turning into a sort of mist now, I declare! It'll be easy enough to get through -- -"
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Once in the 40's
We were alone one night on a long
road in Montana. This was in winter, a big
night, far to the stars. We had hitched,
my wife and I, and left our ride at
a crossing to go on. Tired and cold--but
brave--we trudged along. This, we said,
was our life, watched over, allowed to go
where we wanted. We said we'd come back some time
when we got rich. We'd leave the others and find
a night like this, whatever we had to give,
and no matter how far, to be so happy again.
by William Stafford