Poetry
-
Emily Dickinson, translated by Liv Wenger
Very fragile. Very little. Always correctly dressed in white. Through the house her footsteps sounded disciplined and so polite. Dusting, watering flowers too, with busy, little housewife’s hands. Baking bread. Walking in the park, writing letters to family and friends. Loving sister. Obedient daughter. A daily game with dolls and house. But deep inside were Continue reading
-
Sunday Morning
Wallace Stevens 1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. Continue reading
Sunlight-Colored Roses 