Jan. 9th, 2012

foxtongue: (Default)
I signed up for a remote contracting service today which resulted in a morning spent taking multiple choice tests to quantitatively prove my knowledge of editing styles. By noon it was obvious that my Oxford is near perfect, but my Chicago has slipped. How, I don't know, except that perhaps it's similar to when I lost my ability to count in binary on my fingers when I tried to learn hex using a similar system, meshing the two and destroying both. (One of these days, I tell myself, I will get binary back, as it was a clever sort of trick, but as of yet I haven't found reason to bother.)
foxtongue: (Default)
A Week Later
by Sharon Olds

A week later, I said to a friend: I don't
think I could ever write about it.
Maybe in a year I could write something.
There is something in me maybe someday
to be written; now it is folded, and folded,
and folded, like a note in school. And in my dream
someone was playing jacks, and in the air there was a
huge, thrown, tilted jack
on fire. And when I woke up, I found myself
counting the days since I had last seen
my husband-only two years, and some weeks,
and hours. We had signed the papers and come down to the
ground floor of the Chrysler Building,
the intact beauty of its lobby around us
like a king's tomb, on the ceiling the little
painted plane, in the mural, flying. And it
entered my strictured heart, this morning,
slightly, shyly as if warily,
untamed, a greater sense of the sweetness
and plenty of his ongoing life,
unknown to me, unseen by me,
unheard, untouched-but known, seen,
heard, touched. And it came to me,
for moments at a time, moment after moment,
to be glad for him that he is with the one
he feels was meant for him. And I thought of my
mother, minutes from her death, eighty-five
years from her birth, the almost warbler
bones of her shoulder under my hand, the
eggshell skull, as she lay in some peace
in the clean sheets, and I could tell her the best
of my poor, partial love, I could sing her
out with it, I saw the luck
and luxury of that hour.
foxtongue: (Default)
365: 2012/01/09 - remembering

My father taught me how to tune a six string by ear when I was a very small child. Today I discovered that I can still do it. He might be gone, but the knowledge is not.

Remember kids, a telephone dial tone is an "a".


foxtongue: (Default)

April 2012

123 4 5 6 7

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 23rd, 2017 11:37 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios