HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Saturday, June 28, 2008 i wrote this after leaving for new york. Ars Poetica I didn’t sleep the night before flying into New York. I spent the night spinning a roomful of silk. So when I emptied the room of myself, The room would not be empty. I stayed awake to watch my sister waking. Delivering her into the dawn, her face disappeared like a star. I picked through the debris of the years, deciding what to take. Finally, I took with me nothing more than a pair of wings. I am leaving now, I nudged my grandfather, still asleep. What? he said, turning his better ear towards my lips. Nothing, I said, Get back to sleep. I left. He continued sleeping, as though woken by nothing more than the slightest kiss of some winged thing in passage. posted by dawn # 7:11 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] the man at the gate breaking bread his mother gave me a silver and glass pendant, it'... jaz The Summer Train i heart new york beautiful justin running with donald tired [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Saturday, June 28, 2008

i wrote this after leaving for new york.

Ars Poetica

I didn’t sleep the night before flying
into New York.

I spent the night
spinning a roomful of silk.
So when I emptied the room of myself,
The room would not be empty.

I stayed awake
to watch my sister waking.
Delivering her into the dawn,
her face disappeared
like a star.

I picked through the debris
of the years, deciding
what to take. Finally, I took with me
nothing more than
a pair of wings.

I am leaving now, I nudged my grandfather, still asleep.
What? he said, turning
his better ear towards my lips.
Nothing, I said, Get back to sleep.
I left. He continued sleeping,
as though woken by nothing more
than the slightest kiss
of some winged thing in passage.

posted by dawn # 7:11 PM

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