We drag our bed wherever we go. Without it we become
monstrous:
Our teeth ache
and our moods swell and we cave inward,
loving nothing so much as our ball gown skins
(which stand quite well on their own).
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:
You Have to be Careful
by Naomi Shihab Nye
You have to be careful telling things.
Some ears are tunnels.
Your words will go in and get lost in the dark.
Some ears are flat pans like miners used looking for gold.
What you say will be washed out with the stones.
You look for a long time till you find the right ears.
Till then, there are birds and lamps to be spoken to,
a patient cloth rubbing shine in circles,
and the slow, gradually growing possibility
that when you find such ears
they already know.
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