down where i darn with the milk-eyed mender/you and i and a love so tender/stretched on the hoop where i stitch this adage:/“bless our house and its heart so savage”
quilt quilt quilt!
she guessed my favorite color first try..
but between me and u……. i didnt even have a favorite color until she yelled out yellow!! she was hella excited n smiling like a little kid. so i told her she was right and i havent seen yellow the same since, its in everything. i could probably live in it now.
concept: i return to my hometown years from now. no one has been here for decades - there’s so much green, so many flowers that i can’t see the ground. i go to what was, long ago, my house. i curl up on the soft grass that coats my bedroom floor and fall asleep in a patch of sunlight.
The most beautiful part of your body
is where it’s headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world.
Ocean Vuong, “Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong,” published in The New Yorker (via bostonpoetryslam)
someone teach me how to not be dumb + how to talk to people, I still can’t say the things I want to or really anything at all / dirty surf town / the way you have your hands spread over the back of a book / hearing you spell something out / write in scenes, write in scenes / spring and cold hands, still keep thinking that, can’t decide what it means
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
Li-Young Lee, From Blossoms (via yesyes)
When the piece of a body is left (or a home is left) then the body begins being a constellation: one piece is there! one piece is there! If I leave my hair in the comb in my mother’s house & walk out the door to go to the airport, then all of a sudden the body is everything between me & that lost piece. The body is made up, then, of roads & crickets & azucena & mud. How large we are. How ramshackle, how brilliant, how haphazardly & strangely rendered we are. Gloriously, fantastically mixed & monstered. I have been asking myself to be more attentive & porous—to pay attention to the way every inch of me is animal, every inch of me is earth. I am trying to remember this. Where is my cloud? Where is my sea? What do the lungs hunt? What does the eye have in common with the teeth?
Aracelis Girmay (via elucipher)