Been cleaning out paper this weekend. Redecorating a space or two, keeping my hand in and my eye alive, saying hello to the books. I found this poem copied on the back of a handbill for a New Year’s show at the Grand Ave Ale House that the High, Wide, and Handsome Band did a few years back. The quote on the front of the handbill, superimposed on a photo of a man dressed in marching band regalia and wearing a clown nose, reads:

“the barwalker was the type of drunk who was not happy unless he was up on a sagging     bar, arms akimbo, dancing a cossack dance and kicking over glasses of beer.”

– Joseph Mitchell

The poem on the back, which I cannot remember copying down, is by a woman I’ve not heard of, and untitled:

I will not live an unlived life./ I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire./ I choose to inhabit my days,/ to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid, more accessible,/ to loosen my heart/ until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise./ I choose to risk my significance;

to live,/ so that which came to me as a seed/goes to the next as a blossom,/ and that which came to me as blossom,/ goes on as fruit.

– Dawna Markova

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Cascadian wordsmith and reluctant scorpio, with a fondness for honey, trees, and ducks, as well as birds on the wing and orange kitties.

One thought on “Live”

  1. Wow. Something told me to check your website again before I settled in to do another work report due tomorrow. Now I know why. It is such a delight to find you writing again and leading us to/through wondrous musings and revelations. I think many of us living in the Pac NW share your feelings about these days of Jan/February darkness and flatness…..the
    deadness before another burst of life and vitality. Partly the reason for such an exodus of people to the sun…those that can get away, do.

    My world has been too busy and time/deadline structured again. It does mean the gray time is not so noticeable, but it has its own heavy price to pay. Just finished a CD Book called “Unbearable Loud and Indescribably Close” about a boy losing his father in 911. The boy keeps refering to having “very heavy boots” whenever he is so sad and depressed. Rather a nice image for the feeling.

    Thanks for adding to the significance of my day, Pat

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