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March 24, 2010

Words. I don’t have them right now, but I do love them.

I read them, I savor them, I take them in and feel them on such a visceral level, that they sometimes bring me to tears. They’re just words. They don’t mean anything. And they mean everything. And they mean different things for different people at different times.

I don’t always have my own words. They teeter at the tip of my tongue, waiting for an opportunity to jump.  Or stay tucked in my cheek as if I’d taken a bite too big, of something. And I need to digest it all before spilling open. Perhaps, it is when my words are in hiding that I finally stop thinking and in my silence, am most receptive to other peoples’ voices.  Because the fact is, sometimes other people just say it better.  They pluck the words right out of my mouth where they had been blowing wildly or sitting silently, and they string them together like prayer flags.  It feels so good to see them elsewhere, all lined up, to recognize them as my truth but in a way that I just wasn’t able to express at this moment in time. There is much comfort in that. Lisa’s post did that for me tonight. As did the following poem.

Words. I don’t have them right now, but I do love them.

Bon appétit. xo


Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous ones we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be good as fingers.
They can be trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.

Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.

Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren’t good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.

But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Word and eggs must be handled with care
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.

-Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

7 Comments leave one →
  1. March 25, 2010 2:27 pm

    yep, often i feel like i don’t have any to adequately express anything. some of my friends think its a great cosmic joke that i often struggle to write anything!!

  2. March 25, 2010 2:38 pm

    that poem!
    these photos!

    you are the real deal. and i am so happy to call you friend.

    love you madly.

  3. March 25, 2010 3:52 pm

    LOVED this.

  4. March 26, 2010 9:43 am

    ” …and they string them together like prayer flags”

    Lovely! The whole post is lovely.

    I love it, too, when accidental poetry is made with those little magentic words.

  5. Jess Heiner permalink
    March 27, 2010 7:52 am

    I just heard myself sigh aloud. thanks for this wander to a place so many find solace. 🙂

  6. March 27, 2010 11:10 am

    fabulous post. i adore that poem 🙂

    xo Alison

  7. March 28, 2010 5:44 pm

    just found your blog.
    so very grateful i did.

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