Quote of Inspiration

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Atilla and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar



Tuesday, April 19, 2011

A Poem for Bobby Wade

Morning (for Bobby Wade)

Each morning, still dark

An hour before wakefulness

You come, tiny feet

Padding up the stairs quickly first

Then slowly, you crawl

Into my bed, your back to my chest.

You scoot, settle in

And you say to me in the softest voice

Good morning, it’s time.

I lean over, kiss the wiry strands of your hair

And beg, not yet.

Turning to me with a decided grunt you kiss me

So gently, on the cheek

That my heart cracks open like a coconut shell

Making room to love you more.

2 comments:

  1. Woman, you need to keep writing poetry. Seriously.

    ReplyDelete

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