away far too long...

i have been away for far too long.
i'm not writing much these days,
aside from the weekly brit-lit-crit
and notes on noteworthy philosophers
and a word on religion and tradition
and heritage.

nothing for you and nothing,
really, for me.

we'll meet again--the pen, the paper, and you.
i hope i find you quietly awaiting my return,
as i quietly await your eyes,
as i quietly begin to stir.

dear reader(s),

i've started a new blog! it's about food and crafty things, much like this one is about art and writey things. check her out-- she's called comme dessert... and that means "for dessert..." in french (in case you were wondering).

i've really been thinking a lot about starting a food blog, so finally i've done it. she's not so pretty right now but i'm working on it. i may even visit ellie at rainy day templates for a pretty layout. but we shall see. in any case, i hope comme dessert... becomes a hugely big hit, but between you and me, i'm happy just to be doing it.

more to come, including the much awaited sonnet from my most recent 10 words assignment!

♥

ten words, attempted.

dust

dust is lust expired,

transplanted by a cold gust

from the fan of extinguished heat.

as sand turned to glass breaks,

so the glinting sharp shards cut.

soiled by rapacious fingertips,

tattered pages fuel eagerness

until the yellow blaze is blackened

and all that is lasting

turns to dust.

Ruby, Dorothea Lange, Sacramento 1937.

can a city gal grow carrots in a box?

this is the question i've been asking myself today. i can't even keep a couple of house plants alive and i'm mulling over the idea of starting a garden. i won't commit to a plot in a community garden because i'm too embarrassed that i'll still hate having dirty hands (an issue since childhood which has turned me into what my friends would call an "indoor girl") and won't tend to my plants and they'll all die and turn to weeds and yield nothing edible at all.

i'm convinced that so many of society's problems are caused by the fact that we (americans especially) do not do anything anymore. we buy pre-made everything and sit in front of computers all day and blog, twitter, facebook, blackberry, im ourselves through reality without ever exerting a drop of energy toward creating the things we need to survive. i attributed recent occurrences of workplace violence and kidnapping to the fact that no one farms anymore in a conversation with co-workers about the crumbling of civilized society. i really believe that. humans are animals and fundamentally, don't we have the instinctual desire to exert physical energy? is it safe to assume that the relationship between actively creating and stress relief exists? i could go on and on about this for pages and pages but you'd get bored and i already know you get what i'm saying. i mean for goodness sake, people don't even walk anywhere anymore-- they buy smart cars to save gas on "around town errands". 3 words: ride a bike. so there.

back to gardening. i'm afraid i'm going to get bored with it and let everything die. i'm afraid i'm going to hate getting dirty and i'll freak out at the bugs (especially caterpillars--eww). but why is any of that stopping me? i've been looking for a new creative outlet, something that's just mine and that will provide me with some much needed alone time. i have a wonderful place to plant a garden at my grandparent's place and i really think i should put my money where my mouth is and start contributing to things that i believe in-- like sustainability and self-sufficiency.

i think i'm going to try to make a "square foot garden" which seems wonderful because there's no digging or roto-tiller rental involved-- i can't be trusted with machinery of any sort. perhaps small at first, with some herbs and peppers and tomatoes (for color and for michael, not for me). maybe i'll throw in some flowers just because they're pretty and i always love having fresh blooms in the house.

i really want to be good at this and stick to it. i want to know that i've created something that nourishes my body and soul and perks up the earth just a little bit. cross your green thumbs for a healthy harvest-- i need all the help i can get.

It is good to be alone in a garden at dawn or dark so that all its shy presences may haunt you and possess you in a reverie of suspended thought. ~James Douglas, Down Shoe Lane

when i wrote this i was thinking there must be a time when a day and a lifetime are interchangeable. that is, life gets to a point that in one rising and setting it can parallel the rising and setting of an entire life. this is what that day looks like to me...

feet hooked over the foot of the bed
and knees like kissing flamingo legs
an ear in the crook of red wine and
spanish dancers

grapefruit spoons and roots
of a tree on notebook paper
fill blanks on unfinished
lists like
ruby raindrops
crushed
between lip and steel

a hand on weight meant for motherhood
made of afternoon naps and
warm milk silence
makes promises through translucent skin
like an owls wings on snow

french flea market wallpaper lit by
the barbizon muse and terracotta
dinners on mismatched plates
with little fingers wrapped around
a sturdy, callused thumb

behind falling night and candle dimmed
windows sigh green eyes
the lines etched near mouths and brows
count the time in grey