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From Rainer Maria Rilke:

December 15, 2017

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

Archaic Torso of Apollo

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From Rebecca Hazelton:

December 12, 2017

All the dark honey from a winter garden sags in heavy combs, and the buzz
begins, back where the hand fumbles in the dark, barely
clear of the bees, the soft fur and the clicking black: divided sex,
divided tasks, the guarded and the guards. The hand exchanges cells, new
edges to wax and sweet, and then the hasty withdrawal. This leitmotiv
for saving, spending, thievery. Every summer the same tableau:
good honey spilling from the burst comb, split figs on the plate, another harvest
has ended. Give us this day our daily. Give us the rational methods.

Both Sides

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From Pam Grossman:

December 7, 2017

We are the ones who make things, and make things happen.
We are the ones who imagine. Image mages. Symbol spinsters.
We who are fluent in lunar language. We who can answer to the ancestors.
We who are overcome by furred spirits and feathered forces.
We who take pleasure in flight: on brooms, in bedrooms,
running backwards on goats through all weather and wilderness.
We who love in half-light.
Bearer of daggers, and keys for great unlockings.

– What is a Witch

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From Pam Grossman:

December 4, 2017

I bend things,
blend things,
mend the broken.

I see things,
spell things,
speak the unspoken.

I’ll heal you,
I’ll hex you,
and both are a gift

I’ll craft you a disaster
then offer you a lift.

– What is a Witch?

From June Jordan:

December 2, 2017

These poems
they are things that I do
in the dark
reaching for you
whoever you are
and
are you ready?

These skeletal lines
they are desperate arms for my longing and love.

I am a stranger
learning to worship the strangers
around me

These Poems

From Louise Erdrich:

November 29, 2017

I cut off my hair and toss it across your pillow.
A dark towel
like the one after sex.
I’m walking out,
my face a dustpan,
my body stiff as a new broom.

I will drive boys
to smash empty bottles on their brows.
I will pull them right out of their skins.

– Mary Magdalene

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ALIVE

November 26, 2017
source

i’ve never watched an episode of GoT in my life, but this is too apt

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i’m back!!

(for a couple of weeks, at least, until the third round of edits happens).

edits for this time around are sent IN! this round was so much more difficult than the first round. i wasn’t sure what to expect, because i’m so new at this, but i figured maybe the first one would be the worst, and then it would get a bit better from there. nope. first one felt okay (maybe i just did a crap job at them, without knowing) and the second one was like oh dear, i’m going to have to do some deep diving. nothing wrong with deep diving, but balancing a full-time job and managing a household (albeit a small one, but i don’t have a partner and so there’s no one to do laundry or put a stew on save for me) and trying to appease friends who don’t quite understand the hermit-ness of writing really wore on me. november was the busiest month of probably my life so far for so many reasons. but i made it thru! (on very little sleep and turning into a bit of a snappy bitch at times, but thru nonetheless.)

truly though, it’s often pretty hard to get people to respect the fact that writing takes up so much time. some people really got it, right off the bat; many didn’t. and i’m not just talking about face to face time: i really, really, really find my patience, in general, limited when i’m writing/editing, so it’s very hard for me to be an agony aunt. when i’m in a lull, sure, i’ll listen to your problems and try to help you down from the ledge. when i’m writing, it’s like i use up all of my reservoir of self-control and patience on what i’m doing. i really don’t have the energy to read your email, to reply to your message, to text you back; i can’t listen to you talk at length about your heartache/sadness/anger/happiness. it’s not that i’m a bad person, it’s just that i’m exhausted, and for the month, you’re going to have to figure it out on your own. it’s incredibly reassuring that i’m a confidante for so many people, but it absolutely does not work for me during periods of writing.

and when i say writing, i don’t mean i sit at my desk for an hour and pound out a thousand words and then i get ready for the day. sometimes, i can sit and stare at the wall and think and all of a sudden four or five hours has gone by, and my ass has fallen asleep and im still in my pajamas and am generally disgusting. writing can sometimes come in dribs and drabs, like pulling a sodden and heavy rope out of the ocean hand over hand – painful, slow, exhausting.

but so rewarding. i feel like i did some hard and good work this time around, more even than last time, and i’m not ever going to complain about that. the writing isn’t ever the issue – it’s balancing all other aspects of my life while doing the writing. so if you have someone in your life who’s doing a ton of writing or editing, and they are keeping you at a distance, it’s not because you don’t mean anything to them, or that they’re cold-hearted, or that they don’t care about what’s happening to you. it’s just that they’re on a journey that they can’t explain to anyone else, that no one else understands, and they need all of their mental faculties to keep at it. so just take a few steps back and give them space to breathe.

and for those of you who do that – bless you. you are the pillars that keep me going, the biggest of hearts. i owe you a glass of wine and a hug.

did i mention that a fiction idea fought its way into my head as i was in the middle of this round of edits? i was like, please, you weren’t invited, this is not an opportune time, but i think it might be pulling up a chair, so … i might be doing some research right now (i am) and i might be making notes on characters (i am). oops.

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