I quite like houseplants, though I doubt they like me (I never water).
Monday, March 9, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Each day
We go about our business
walking past each other
catching each other’s eyes,
or not,
about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise,
thorn and din.
Each one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem,
darning a hole in an uniform,
patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum
with cello,
boombox,
harmonica,
voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus,
a farmer considers the changing sky
a teacher says, “take out your pencils, begin."
We encounter each other in words,
words spiny or smooth,
words whispered or declaimed,
words to consider,
reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways
that mark the will of someone
and then others that said,
“I need to see what’s on the other side.
I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain:
That many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
Who laid the train tracks,
raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce
Built brick by brick
the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean
and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle
Praise song for the day
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring it out at kitchen tables
Some live by “love thy neighbor as thyself."
Others by, "first, do not harm,"
or "take no more than you need."
What if
the mightiest word is
Love.
Love beyond marital, filial, national
Love that casts a widening pool of light
Love with no need to preempt grievance
In today's sharp sparkle,
this winter air,
anything can be made
any sentence begun
On the brink...
On the brim...
On the cusp...
Praise song
for walking forward
in that light.
We go about our business
walking past each other
catching each other’s eyes,
or not,
about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise,
thorn and din.
Each one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem,
darning a hole in an uniform,
patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum
with cello,
boombox,
harmonica,
voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus,
a farmer considers the changing sky
a teacher says, “take out your pencils, begin."
We encounter each other in words,
words spiny or smooth,
words whispered or declaimed,
words to consider,
reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways
that mark the will of someone
and then others that said,
“I need to see what’s on the other side.
I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain:
That many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
Who laid the train tracks,
raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce
Built brick by brick
the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean
and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle
Praise song for the day
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring it out at kitchen tables
Some live by “love thy neighbor as thyself."
Others by, "first, do not harm,"
or "take no more than you need."
What if
the mightiest word is
Love.
Love beyond marital, filial, national
Love that casts a widening pool of light
Love with no need to preempt grievance
In today's sharp sparkle,
this winter air,
anything can be made
any sentence begun
On the brink...
On the brim...
On the cusp...
Praise song
for walking forward
in that light.
-Elizabeth Alexander, January 20, 2009.
read the The Venus Hottentot (1825) and more from Elizabeth Alexander here.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
here are a few (+ two) of my new favourite things
a song: unreachable
a store: purchased here
a film: who is bozo texino?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Not just nepotism: Pacific 2, 2006, oil on canvas; one of my favourite paintings from the incredibly talented artist/cousin, Meghan Irvine. More from Meghan here.
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