Friday, November 28, 2008

a poem for the day after thanksgiving . . .

I had a little existential crisis yesterday, feeling so overwhelmed by love and (lots of) people and food, and then a little old homeless woman hawking sparkling things approached us at the gas station. We didn't help her. We should have.

The Old Words

This is hard to say
Simply, because the words
Have grown so old together:
Lips and eyes and tears,
Touch and fingers
And love, out of love's language,
Are hard and smooth as stones
Laid bare in a streambed,
Not failing or fading
Like the halting speech of the body
Which will turn too suddenly
To ominous silence,
But like your lips and mine
Slow to separate, our fingers
Reluctant to come apart,
Our eyes and their slow tears
Reviving like these words
Springing to life again
And again, taken to heart,
To touch, love, to begin.

by David Wagoner
from Art and Love: An Illustrated Anthology of Love Poetry
Selected by Kate Farrell
Art & Love: An Illustrated Anthology of Love Poetry

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