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Dear Spring,: April 2013
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Sunday, April 7, 2013. The Grapes of Wrath. I grew up in Steinbeck land and was forced to read all of his shorter works in middle school: The Pearl, The Red Pony,. And a few longer works like Cannery Row. I am teaching American Studies this year and felt like I have a teacherly duty to say something about Great Depression and this iconic work. So, I tentatively picked up The Grapes of Wrath. Before I knowed it, I was sayin' out loud, 'The hell with it! Learn Gonna lay in the grass, open an' honest with a...
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Dear Spring,: May 2013
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Sunday, May 26, 2013. Snapshots of a year. For as long as I can remember writing I have always kept some sort of journal or diary. In elementary school I had a Lion King journal with a heart shaped lock; now I write in much more austere black and white composition notebooks, anything that can be procured cheaply or re-purposed. I journeyed from Wichita, Kansas and back to Seattle in a whirlwind wedding weekend. Here are some thoughts over the course of an-almost-year. Omnis cellula e cellula.
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Dear Spring,: Poem for Memorization
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Sunday, September 1, 2013. 8220;In the evening we shall be examined on love.”. St John of the Cross. And it won’t be multiple choice,. Though some of us would prefer it that way. Neither will it be essay, which tempts us to run on. When we should be sticking to the point, if not together. In the evening there shall be implications. Our fear will change to complications. No cheating,. We’ll be told, and we’ll try to figure out the cost of being true. To ourselves. In the evening when the sky has turned.
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Dear Spring,: For Florentino: Saint of Desperate Lovers
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Saturday, July 13, 2013. For Florentino: Saint of Desperate Lovers. 8220;My heart has more rooms than a whorehouse.”. Florentino Ariza, Love in the Time of Cholera. And in each chamber is a lover. That I do not want or do not need. But cannot extract and sometimes. These phantoms of passion and history that never. Truly belonged to me bring condolences. And more frequently a searing nostalgia that provokes. Old men to throw themselves from old bridges. For the good fortune of too much loving.
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Dear Spring,: September 2013
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Sunday, September 1, 2013. 8220;In the evening we shall be examined on love.”. St John of the Cross. And it won’t be multiple choice,. Though some of us would prefer it that way. Neither will it be essay, which tempts us to run on. When we should be sticking to the point, if not together. In the evening there shall be implications. Our fear will change to complications. No cheating,. We’ll be told, and we’ll try to figure out the cost of being true. To ourselves. In the evening when the sky has turned.
oliviapryor.blogspot.com
Dear Spring,: September 2012
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Saturday, September 29, 2012. Today I have my cranky pants on. So that I ooze irritability. I’m cranky about my bumpy bus commute. That reeks of stale beer, cranky about unpaid overtime,. Cranky about the cell phone dropped in water,. And the headband that pinches. Cranky without a caffeine and sugar fix,. Cranky because I am so behind on piles of paperwork. Bills, dental appointments, and car repairs. Cranky because I’ve gained fifteen pounds. And can’t even fit into. The dance of drawing inward.
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Dear Spring,: Summer Farming Art
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Sunday, September 1, 2013. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. The sisters of the illuminated atrium. Watermark template. Powered by Blogger.
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Dear Spring,: October 2012
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Wednesday, October 3, 2012. This is the Fall. This is the fall. Day that smells like first. Poetry on the well. Out the part of bright. Mama Says, Thresh the Laundry. Mama says, thresh the laundry on the line. It’s time to mulch the garden with bathrobes and slippers. Put on your shower cap and hoe with your sisters under the blue moonlight. Watch the men irrigate the accordion and weed the violin. Drink and clap and sing! We slaughter the ironing board every spring. And sell bent nails each winter.
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Dear Spring,: December 2012
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Saturday, December 1, 2012. Poem of Undoing- by Sharon Venezio. How many kinds of undoing are there? The word love in the back of my throat,. Mouth ajar, as I don't say your name. Is unhappiness a kind of undoing? The heart's fault line, a fracture. In the space between two bodies. My heart is a thirsty artichoke,. Each petal a different version of undoing. If I knock three times, will you reappear? Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). View my complete profile. The sisters of the illuminated atrium.
