Meowissey
Goodbye, goodbye!
There was so much to love, I could not love it all;
I could not love it enough.
—Louise Bogan, in The Blue Estuaries: Poems (1923-1968), with thanks to journalofanobody (via growing-orbits)
(via growing-orbits)
Night View Through Trees of Pittsburgh, W. Eugene Smith, c. 1955 (via)
On this day 25 years ago, Fresh Air was first broadcast nationwide. In honor of our favorite show’s silver anniversary, we give you this photo of Terry Gross in an outfit that would make any Philadelphia hipster feel like a GAP-wearing wannabe. A tiny woman with a mighty talent, there’s nothing more beautiful than the sound of Terry Gross’s laughter. Happy birthday Fresh Air! We love you.
Thanks babesofnpr!
I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can’t stop them. They leave me and I love them more.
—Maurice Sendak, who has died at the age of 83 (via growing-orbits)
An Early Afterlife
An Early Afterlife
“…a wise man in time of peace, shall make the necessary preparations for war.”
–Horace
Why don’t we say goodbye right now
in the fallacy of perfect health
before whatever is going to happen
happens. We could perfect our parting,
like those characters in On the Beach
who said farewell in the shadow
of the bomb as we sat watching,
young and holding hands at the movies.
We could use the loving words
we otherwise might not have time to say.
We could hold each other for hours
in a quintessential dress rehearsal.
Then we could just continue
for however many years were left.
The ragged things that are coming next—
arteries closing like rivers silting over,
or rampant cells stampeding us to the exit—
would be like postscripts to our lives
and wouldn’t matter. And we would bask
in an early afterlife of ordinary days,
impervious to the inclement weather
already in our long-range forecast.
Nothing could touch us. We’d never
have to say goodbye again.
Linda Pastan, from An Early Afterlife
Ferlinghetti.
(Source: prchtshrk, via grammatolatry)
May
May apple, daffodil,
hyacinth, lily,
and by the front
porch steps
every billowing
shade of purple
and lavender lilac,
my mother’s favorite flower,
sweet breath drifting through
the open windows:
perfume of memory—conduit
of spring.—
Some piece of you
stays in me and I’ll never give it back.
The heart hoards its thorns
just as the rose profligates.
Just because you’ve had enough
doesn’t mean you wanted too much.
npr:
The most graceful falling bear we’ve ever seen.
The bear landed safely on the padded mat.
“If a bear fell in the forest would anybody hear it?”
