I am tired of the litany of months, September October I am tired of the way the seasons keep changing, mimicking the seasons of the flesh which are real and finite.
Just looking at them I grow greedy, as if they were freshly baked loaves waiting on their shelves to be broken open--that one and that--and I make my… - Linda Pastan
Just looking at them I grow greedy, as if they were freshly baked loaves waiting on their shelves to be broken open--that one and that--and I make my…
- Linda Pastan
There are poems that are never written, that simply move across the mind like skywriting on a still day: slowly the first word drifts west, t… - Linda Pastan
There are poems that are never written, that simply move across the mind like skywriting on a still day: slowly the first word drifts west, t…
Evil is simply a grammatical error: a failure to leap the precipice between "he" and "I. - Linda Pastan
Evil is simply a grammatical error: a failure to leap the precipice between "he" and "I.
I am tired of the litany of months, September October I am tired of the way the seasons keep changing, mimicking the seasons of the flesh w… - Linda Pastan
I am tired of the litany of months, September October I am tired of the way the seasons keep changing, mimicking the seasons of the flesh w…
What we want is never simple. - Linda Pastan
What we want is never simple.
Grief is a circular staircase. - Linda Pastan
Grief is a circular staircase.
I made a list of things I have to remember and a list of things I want to forget, but I see they are the same list. - Linda Pastan
I made a list of things I have to remember and a list of things I want to forget, but I see they are the same list.
I have dreamed of our bed as if it were a shore where we would be washed up, not this striped mattress we must cover with sheets. [from "After an Abs… - Linda Pastan
I have dreamed of our bed as if it were a shore where we would be washed up, not this striped mattress we must cover with sheets. [from "After an Abs…
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book and these things bear our names - now… - Linda Pastan
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book and these things bear our names - now…
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