how could i exist if i was not visible?
Opening day! Syndergaard on the mound! At least it's warmed up a little. I still think they should truncate the season a little at both ends, because playing the World Series in November is so dumb, but what the hell do I know? Anyway, it's spring, and a young person's fancy turns to baseball.
In other sports news, the Rangers held on and kept the Flyers out of the playoffs, which was mighty pleasing to me. I still don't see the Rangers going far - they could make it out of Montreal, but I don't see anything past that for them. It makes me sad, because I would love to see Lundqvist hoist the cup, but the window has closed so rapidly that I can't help but think he'll be another amazing player who never gets that opportunity.
In other, less fun news, I got my period this morning for the first time since November. Sigh. Restart the countdown clock.
Lastly, today's poem:
What the Dead Don't Need
by Faith Shearin
No need for shoes, of course, or closets full of empty
dresses. No need for the shade of trees or the approval
of parents and friends. They don't care about the objects
of this world: a new computer, a house overlooking
the sea. The place they occupy may or may not contain
a window to all they've left behind. We, the living, think
of them without knowing who or what they have become.
Ghosts? Dust? Butterflies? Wind? Other mysteries -
puberty, sex, childbirth - are the business of life, and
anyone can tell their story. On the matter of death: only
a closed box and the silence of earth or ashes. When my
daughter was small, my disappearance behind a blanket
or curtain seemed permanent. How could I exist if
I was not visible? When I returned, she was grateful:
laughter and kisses, her hand on the roots of my hair.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/921207.html.
people have commented there.
In other sports news, the Rangers held on and kept the Flyers out of the playoffs, which was mighty pleasing to me. I still don't see the Rangers going far - they could make it out of Montreal, but I don't see anything past that for them. It makes me sad, because I would love to see Lundqvist hoist the cup, but the window has closed so rapidly that I can't help but think he'll be another amazing player who never gets that opportunity.
In other, less fun news, I got my period this morning for the first time since November. Sigh. Restart the countdown clock.
Lastly, today's poem:
What the Dead Don't Need
by Faith Shearin
No need for shoes, of course, or closets full of empty
dresses. No need for the shade of trees or the approval
of parents and friends. They don't care about the objects
of this world: a new computer, a house overlooking
the sea. The place they occupy may or may not contain
a window to all they've left behind. We, the living, think
of them without knowing who or what they have become.
Ghosts? Dust? Butterflies? Wind? Other mysteries -
puberty, sex, childbirth - are the business of life, and
anyone can tell their story. On the matter of death: only
a closed box and the silence of earth or ashes. When my
daughter was small, my disappearance behind a blanket
or curtain seemed permanent. How could I exist if
I was not visible? When I returned, she was grateful:
laughter and kisses, her hand on the roots of my hair.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/921207.html.
people have commented there.