April 2011
After Your Death, Natasha Trethewey
poetry365:
First, I emptied the closets of your clothes,
threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised
rom your touch, left empty the jars
you bought for preserves. The next morning,
birds rustled the fruit trees, and later
when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem,
I found it half eaten, the other side
already rotting, or—like another I plucked
and split open—being taken rom the inside:
a...
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It has been a long time. Not since you felt this way, but since you’ve thought about certain people, written one of these, had that feeling in your chest.
Sometimes, though, everything comes together just right (or wrong) to make your heart clench then beat faster than normal, your hands shake and your breath shallow. Your eyes are tearing up and it’s all because the way the train...
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For Three Days
quickienewyork:
She slept in my bed for three days while I was away.
When I returned I crawled under the covers without thinking and it was like she was there. I could smell her perfume and her body, and I wondered how she slept and what she wore. I wondered which way she faced, and how her leg was positioned when she woke up in the morning.
There was a note on the bedside table thanking me...
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“This is the way life happens, although we don’t want to admit it. We build...”
– Scorcese on Ingmar Bergman (via sipuedevolar)