I'm BackBut first, I'm going to get into my PJs, grab my book, and climb into my favorite chair.
What can't wait another day...
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- Current Residence: Live Free or Die
- Interests: Music, Literature, Foreign Language, Dance, Travel, History, Photography, Baseball
- Favourite movie: Amadeus, Benny & Joon, Don't Look Back, The Darjeeling Limited, Emma
- Favourite band or musician: Radiohead, Bob Dylan, John Coltrane, The Beatles
- Favourite genre of music: Rock, Folk, Jazz
- Favourite artist: Georgia O'Keeffe
- Favourite poet or writer: JD Salinger, Chaim Potok, Roald Dahl, CS Lewis, Bob Dylan
- MP3 player of choice: My ipod, George
- Shell of choice: Conch
- Email: foguponLA@live.com
- AIM: michalbenik
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| ROWING by Anne Sexton A story, a story! (Let it go. Let it come.) I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender into this world. First came the crib with its glacial bars. Then dolls and the devotion to their plactic mouths. Then there was school, the little straight rows of chairs, blotting my name over and over, but undersea all the time, a stranger whose elbows wouldn't work. Then there was life with its cruel houses and people who seldom touched- though touch is all- but I grew, like a pig in a trenchcoat I grew, and then there were many strange apparitions, the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison and all of that, saws working through my heart, but I grew, I grew, and God was there like an island I had not rowed to, still ignorant of Him, my arms, and my legs worked, and I grew, I grew, I wore rubies and bought tomatoes and now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing though the oarlocks stick and are rusty and the sea blinks and rolls like a worried eyeball, but I am rowing, I am rowing, though the wind pushes me back and I know that that island will not be perfect, it will have the flaws of life, the absurdities of the dinner table, but there will be a door and I will open it and I will get rid of the rat inside me, the gnawing pestilential rat. God will take it with his two hands and embrace it. As the African says: This is my tale which I have told, if it be sweet, if it be not sweet, take somewhere else and let some return to me. This story ends with me still rowing. |
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Happy Thanksgiving and I hope all is well.
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