Notes:
- Thank you Rachel
- Related Posts: “It’s Been a Long Day“
Maybe poems are made of breath,
the way water, cajoled to boil,
says,
This is my soul, freed.
— Dean Young, from “Scarecrow on Fire,” Fall Higher
Notes:
Inhalation.
Exhalation.
Each breath a “yes,”
and a letting go,
a journey,
and a coming home.
~ Danna Faulds, “Breath of Life” from Go In and In: Poems from the Heart of Yoga
Notes: Photo – Purvi Joshi with Tired Rapunzel
It’s we who breathe, in, out, in, the sacred,
leaves astir, our wings
rising, ruffled—but only saints
take flight. We cower
in cliff-crevice or edge out gingerly
on branches close to the nest. The wind
marks the passage of holy ones riding
that ocean of air. Slowly their wake
reaches us, rocks us.
But storm or still,
numb or poised in attention,
we inhale, exhale, inhale,
encompassed, encompassed.
– Denise Levertov, In Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being from “Selected Poems”
Notes:
Sometimes all you have to do is open a jar. The smell of Noxzema takes me back to the summer of 1957, and the front seat of the old Hudson my boyfriend drove, and how we parked at the Amagansett beach at night and made out like crazy, and afterward I was afraid I was pregnant, even though we didn’t do anything but kiss. The fear and the pleasure are as fresh to me every time I smell the stuff, and I keep a jar around so I can remember being young.
~ Abigail Thomas, Thinking About Memoir
Image: gabysbeautyblog