Wednesday, February 2, 2011

"In our sky, women not ignored." I should change my socks but I'd rather write to you, my dears

Sarah Sarai is on a bus headed to Washington, D.C.  Out the window--trees at their most humble. 
Wise, too. They know what's coming. The melted butter petals of forsythia have been spotted. Spring with her seven thousand greens and earth that's brown, not white, are in order in the natural order.

It's still an adventure for us all, trees, earth, Sarah Sarai. Ice, storms, the grainy spectacle of human dreams of domination. All to be witnessed; withstood.

My feet are cold.  It was an icy slog from my apt, but now I'm in a warm bus with wifi.  Can you imagine?  There's little traffic, the driver knows what he's doing, it's getting even warmer here. My feet are still cold.

Tonight I'll read at Busboys and Poets, 1025 5th Street at K, NW, . I'm going to a museum tomorrow. Crocuses will be here soon.

I'm going to change my socks now, if you don't mind. I leave you with a few lines from "Our Pointillist Galaxy" which along with "Are the Roses Doing Nothing" is in Reconfigurations. Reconfigurations is the journal inviting me to read tonight.

Throw myth and a caution to the midnight sapphire,
light the stuck fires to warm goddesses and their rapists.
In our sky, women not ignored.
Sarah Sarai

Read "Our Pointillist Galaxy" in full here:

And please keep your feet warm.

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