When we are naked, we are unwritten… We only want to be written.– Orlando White, Discourse I cross cobbled streets, enthralled by street art, modern images adorning walls, utility box covers, traffic signs, there for every passerby, uncontained by museums
Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category
To be written
Posted in Art, Florence, History, Women, Writing on February 2, 2023 | 2 Comments »
In memoriam
Posted in Cemetery, Poetry, Writing on August 17, 2022 | 4 Comments »
I unstitch action from actor, dismantle memories’ timeline, embellish with treasured beads idly trifling my fingers,
Threshold
Posted in Nest, Renewal/rebirth, Transformation, Writing on July 4, 2022 | 4 Comments »
Some summer mornings I resist the invitation to greet the day on the page, murmur excuses within the crowded clamor – too cold, too gray, too late – then the seagull flies overhead, mouth dangling dark matter extracted from a neighbor’s gutter, to the nest I cannot see but must be close.
Just for a moment
Posted in Leaving, Writing on June 15, 2022 | 4 Comments »
I am the comma, the tiniest of endings between the known and something more.
Why not?
Posted in Existential, Love, Writing on December 13, 2021 | 2 Comments »
Why not believe that the mouse fell in love with him? That despite the pull of this ardor, he exiled her for making too much noise, gnawing on the bookcases.