He was broken
and he was beautiful
Broken
All posts by spanishwoods
Lately
the sun kissing the edges of leaves
walks along the river
this book, Hold Still by Sally Mann
the smell of peony and rose
Johnny Cash singing, Daddy Sang Bass
the Laurel Highlands on a cool, fall morning
In Spanish (3 of 3)
aveces, mi alma me duele
(sometimes, my soul hurts)
In Spanish (2 of 3)
en la niebla, te siento
(in the fog, i feel you)
In Spanish (1 of 3)
gitano, me robastes
(gypsy, you stole from me)
Excerpt
Amo, amas, amat, she thought. Amamus, amatis, amant. Their Latin teacher had made them march through the halls chanting conjugations. I love, you love, he, she, or it loves. It loves? That made no sense. We love. You (plural) love. They love. And then, of course, the perfect passive subjunctive – would that I had been loved – the saddest conjugation of them all.
From The Year of the Gadfly by Jennifer Miller, 2012
Rising
the morning is my favorite time of day,
when the fog lifts and the hopefulness rises
