"pen to the page catching words as they come, allowing
sunlight to soften the sorrow stored in these cells, saying no
to the little soldiers inside that insist I should
do something productive."
I love these lines so much, Julia--the softness of writing, of paying attention. This whole poem beautifully renders this softness.
Those little soldiers inside can be so insistent. I have been thinking a lot about productivity lately and remembering these lines I wrote in my journal a few years ago:
"I wonder what would need to break open inside of us
for us to begin to take apart
the home we have built inside productivity–
to see that this is the home the world has handed us–
"pen to the page catching words as they come, allowing
sunlight to soften the sorrow stored in these cells, saying no
to the little soldiers inside that insist I should
do something productive."
I love these lines so much, Julia--the softness of writing, of paying attention. This whole poem beautifully renders this softness.
Those little soldiers inside can be so insistent. I have been thinking a lot about productivity lately and remembering these lines I wrote in my journal a few years ago:
"I wonder what would need to break open inside of us
for us to begin to take apart
the home we have built inside productivity–
to see that this is the home the world has handed us–
and to hand it back, saying
this body is my home,
and I will decide what is welcome here."