It's that time again, when I throw a few clothes into a knapsack and take off for the wild (three volcanoes in a week, to say nothing of one earthquake, wild) green yonder.
I will pack along one battered, much-thumbed copy of Anne Sexton:
A woman like that is not a woman, quite
I have been her kind.
And my trusty notebook and new fountain pen with an endless supply of ink (by myself, without voices to distract me, I will write, I will pour out all I have inside me, all I have until I've bled out the last phrase, and then I'll sit quietly and count gray hairs till I'm ready to fall. Asleep. Again)
I will go far away, far away from you, because
The day I died,
you were away from home.
You said, I should be on my own,
and that you were through,
living my life for me
Which was a good thing,
a very good thing.
I knew it.
The day I died
I thought...one less body to breathe air
To add to contamination,
overpopulation.
I was free to fly to the clouds,
But I would never be rain
I would never come again
And you knew it.
4 comments:
I would love to get away from everything for a while. Sounds lovely. You enjoy. But I'll miss you.
Where are you headed? Do have fun - and may many pages filled with writing follow!
What no posts for me to read?? How many days away?
Have an amazing time Jenn, you will be in my thoughts.
Nessa: I didn't actually go anywhere - cept in my head.
Marge: Nowhere...sigh.
Stef: There are - I'm more addicted to blogging than I am to the notion of travel and downtime.
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