holy shit, spring
i got my hair cut a week ago, and since then i have seen my sister twice, my parents once, and coworker d - who has to look at me every day - five times, and no one has noticed. for $70 plus tip i want someone to recognize that i got a haircut. it's a cute haircut! hmph, people, hmph.
also, it might be spring.
i had to walk down to the square to get a prescription, and it was WINDY AS HELL (like, i lost an earring because it blew right out of my ear) but gorgeous and NOT COLD. and i saw a woman walking two fluffy white terrier type dogs who were adorable. and now i'm baking my grandma's passover cannonballs rolls so i have something to take for lunch besides gefilte fish.
i got carrot cake macaroons because why not, but they don't taste enough like carrot cake and they don't have raisins and i'm kind of disappointed. oh well. at least i know not to get them next year.
today's poem:
Carved Marble. Edmonia Lewis, 1875
My God is the living God,
God of the impertinent exile.
An outcast who carved me
into an outcast carved
by sheer and stony will
to wander the desert
in search of deliverance
the way a mother hunts
for her wayward child.
God of each eye fixed to heaven,
God of the fallen water jug,
of all the hope a vessel holds
before spilling to barren sand.
God of flesh hewn from earth
and hammered beneath a will
immaculate with the power
to bear life from the lifeless
like a well in a wasteland.
I'm made in the image of a God
that knows flight but stays me
rock still to tell a story ancient as
slavery, old as the first time
hands clasped together for mercy
and parted to find only their own
salty blessing of sweat.
I have been touched by my God
in my creation, I've known her caress
of anointing callus across my face.
I know the lyric of her pulse
across these lips... and yes,
I've kissed the fingertips
of my dark and mortal God.
She has shown me the truth
behind each chiseled blow
that's carved me into this life,
the weight any woman might bear
to stretch her mouth toward her
one true God, her own
beaten, marble song.
--"Hagar in the Wilderness", Tyehimba Jess
note from the poem-a-day site: Edmonia Lewis (1845-1907) was an African/Native American expatriate sculptor who was phenomenally successful in Rome. and this is the sculpture in question:
also, it might be spring.
i had to walk down to the square to get a prescription, and it was WINDY AS HELL (like, i lost an earring because it blew right out of my ear) but gorgeous and NOT COLD. and i saw a woman walking two fluffy white terrier type dogs who were adorable. and now i'm baking my grandma's passover cannonballs rolls so i have something to take for lunch besides gefilte fish.
i got carrot cake macaroons because why not, but they don't taste enough like carrot cake and they don't have raisins and i'm kind of disappointed. oh well. at least i know not to get them next year.
today's poem:
Carved Marble. Edmonia Lewis, 1875
My God is the living God,
God of the impertinent exile.
An outcast who carved me
into an outcast carved
by sheer and stony will
to wander the desert
in search of deliverance
the way a mother hunts
for her wayward child.
God of each eye fixed to heaven,
God of the fallen water jug,
of all the hope a vessel holds
before spilling to barren sand.
God of flesh hewn from earth
and hammered beneath a will
immaculate with the power
to bear life from the lifeless
like a well in a wasteland.
I'm made in the image of a God
that knows flight but stays me
rock still to tell a story ancient as
slavery, old as the first time
hands clasped together for mercy
and parted to find only their own
salty blessing of sweat.
I have been touched by my God
in my creation, I've known her caress
of anointing callus across my face.
I know the lyric of her pulse
across these lips... and yes,
I've kissed the fingertips
of my dark and mortal God.
She has shown me the truth
behind each chiseled blow
that's carved me into this life,
the weight any woman might bear
to stretch her mouth toward her
one true God, her own
beaten, marble song.
--"Hagar in the Wilderness", Tyehimba Jess
note from the poem-a-day site: Edmonia Lewis (1845-1907) was an African/Native American expatriate sculptor who was phenomenally successful in Rome. and this is the sculpture in question: