gitano, me robastes
(gypsy, you stole from me)
In Spanish (1 of 3)
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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
Lyrics
Then the seated woman with a parasol
May be the only one you can’t betray
If I’m the seated woman with a parasol
I will be safe in my frame…
Lyrics from the album, The Beekeeper and from the song, Parasol by Tori Amos, 2005
Pleasures
soak up life’s little pleasures,
they are fleeting
Silence
it was a morning filled with fog
and a blanket of silence
Mist
the passing years haunt her,
cling to her heart–
like mist on a web
things to collect
old bottles
wishes
tea cups
and
words
creamers
marbles
and
thoughts
Dream
how could i have known that i would dream of you night after night?
Industrial Beauty
a different kind of beauty
spanishwoods 