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This is a poem kent gave me on my 33rd birthday when I was in wilmington regenerating and touching simpler times - simpler ghosts:
An Introduction to Some Poems by William Stafford
Look: no one ever promised for sure
that we would sing. We have decided
to moan. In a strange dance that
we don't understand till we do it, we
have to carry on.
Just as in sleep you have to dream
the exact dream to round out your life,
so we have to live that dream into stories and hold them close to you, close at the edge that we share, to be right.
We find it an awful thing to meet people, serious or not, who have turned into vacant effective people, so far lost that they won't believe their own feelings enough to follow them out.
The authentic is the line from one thing along to the next; it interests us.
Strangely, it relates to what works,
but is not quite the same. It never
swerves for revenge,
Or profit, or fame: it holds
together something more than the world,
this line. And we are your wavery
efforts at following it. Are you coming?
Good: now it is time.
Wendy gave me a clear purse with multi-coloured polka dots.
I use this purse all the time. I love it and always think of her when I pack it up for it's journey. (I also wear the pink sweater with embroidery that she picked up at a yard sale for me ((backwards because the flowers are a bit loud for my personal visage... )) and I use the small black purse she gave me at her yard sale that she held before moving in with Kent.)
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