Listen to this:

Blackbirds by Susan Mitchell

Because it is windy, a woman
finds her clothesline bare, and without rancor
unpins the light, folding it into her basket.
The light is still wet. So she irons it.
The iron hisses and hums. It knows how to make the best of things.
The woman's hands smell clean. When she shakes them out,
they are voluminous, white.

All night my hands weep in gratitude
for little things. That feet are not shoes.
That blackbirds are eating the raspberies. That parsley
does not taste like bread.

From now on I want to live
only by grace. In other words, not to deserve things.
Without rancor, the light dives down
among the turnips. I eat it with my stew.

Today the woman's hands smell like roots. When she
shakes them out, they are voluminous, green.
All day they shade me
from the sun. The blackbirds have come to sit in them.
Since this morning, the wind has been enough.
Posted by hKath at 12:41 AM ()

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Friday, January 3

God, I'm bored. I at that point where you're so bored, your eyes start to sag out of your head for lack of things to look at. I might have figured out what my next tattoo is going to look like. I might not have. I'm gonna go watch another endless movie now. My entire life has become one big pointless movie marathon of lethargy. Thanks to Donna, there is now a mic attatched to my computer. But, I can't get it to work with my speech recognition engine. Well, correction. I can train the speech recognition engine just fine. I just can't use it when push comes to shove. Word won't recognize it, ironically enough. Should I get Word 2002 instead of 2000? Word Perfect? Anything else? Is there something I'm missing? I don't know. But, I'd love to dictate.
Posted by hKath at 7:41 PM ()

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