Alamere Dreams (by Rick Whitacre)
It takes courage, she mused as she glanced at the flame light up the tip of her cigarette, to admit to oneself that we are never the same, that a multitude of people dwell inside us, and that we have little control on which one is going to wake up first in the morning.
She…
jade grapes gleamed dewy
bunched geometry in cheap plastic bowls
served by grinning grandma who confirmed
the vines were cultivated by her son,
picked over the torrid earth
of our wistful country—
shut the balcony door behind you, politely
leave him and I alone,
just for a while
fanned…
If I read a book and feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
“
| — | Emily Dickenson (via alibis-not-needed-anymore) |
