Latest Posts by seven-sided-cootiecatcher - Page 2

My (?) Body by S. Bruzon

when you pick something up with your feet? monkey momence

“When I was nine years old, the world, too, was nine years old. At least, there was no difference between us, no opposition, no distance. We just tumbled around from sunrise to sunset, earth and body as alike as two pennies. And there was never a harsh word between us, for the simple reason that there were no words at all between us; we never uttered a word to each other, the world and I. Our relationship was beyond language—and thus also beyond time. We were one big space (which was, of course, a very small space).”

— Inger Christensen, The Condition of Secrecy

Le goût de la musique : le pianiste, Mark Rothko, 1932-33...

“I’ve got a bit of a repulsion towards drawing in a purely perspectival way, as it puts the optical at the top of some sort of hierarchy” - Mary Herbert

Ada Limón, from “The Russian River”, Sharks in the Rivers

the moths by mary oliver

i go back to may 1937 by Sharon Olds

good mother by Rachel Eliza Griffiths

Sea Fever John Masefield

june by Kenneth Steven

“Matilde, where are you? Down here I noticed, under my necktie and just above my heart, a certain pang of grief between the ribs, you were gone that quickly. I needed the light of your energy, I looked around, devouring hope. I watched the void without you that is like a house, nothing left but tragic windows. Out of sheer taciturnity the ceiling listens to the fall of the ancient leafless rain, to feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned; so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.”

Sonnet LXV, I Wait For You Like A Lonely House — Pablo Neruda.

Ewald Mataré Landscapes, Watercolor, 1920s

frog4scalpel

Mercy

by Joy Sullivan

Once, we were grilling zucchini from the garden. It was summertime and I was about to leave you. A praying mantis landed on the grill. He was bright and beautiful even as he fizzled and I burned all my fingertips trying to save him. You can't tell when an insect is in pain but he must have been and you put him in the grass so softly where I found and stomped him. And I think it surprised us what we each defined as mercy.

excerpt from "Dear Peter" by Ocean Vuong

"Seizure" from Sweetbitter Love: Poems of Sappho Willis Barnstone