teacherscrapbook
Teacher's scrapbook
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James Camion McGuiggen in Aeon
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“A poem is a construction of language that uses, tries to use everything that language can do to conjure to summon up something thats not quite knowable in any other way. ” – Adrienne Rich
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My Little One
by Tennessee Williams
My little one whose tongue is dumb,
whose fingers cannot hold to things,
who is so mercilessly young,
he leaps upon the instant things,
I hold him not. Indeed, who could?
He runs into the burning wood.
Follow, follow if you can!
He will come out grown a man
and not remember whom he kissed,
who caught him by the slender wrist
and bound him by a tender yoke
which, understanding not, he broke.
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Untitled | Margaret Atwood
I look up, you are standing
on the other side of the window
now your body
glimmers in the dark
room / you rise above me
smooth, chill, stone-
white / you smell of tunnels
you smell of too much time
I should have used leaves
and silver to prevent you
instead I summoned
you are not a bird you do not fly
you are not an animal you do not run
you are not a woman
your mouth is nothingness
where it touches me I vanish
you descend on me like age
you descend on me like earth
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