(no subject)

[vriad_lee]

Love Poem

There is always something to be made of pain.
Your mother knits.
She turns out scarves in every shade of red.
They were for Christmas, and they kept you warm
while she married over and over, taking you
along. How could it work,
when all those years she stored her widowed heart
as though the dead come back.
No wonder you are the way you are,
afraid of blood, your women
like one brick wall after another.

Louise Gluck

Comments

[atruestory.livejournal.com]

This is my least favorite of her poems!

[vriad-lee.livejournal.com]

no, i can't say that about myself. but i don't understand part of it:

No wonder you are the way you are,
afraid of blood, your women
like one brick wall after another.

which is about all there is anyhow, but although i don't quite understand it, i like the dramatism of individual lines. i hope i make perfect sense for someone who haven't slept at night. okay

KcxjlrbsGRQ

[(Anonymous)]

Boy that rlaely helps me the heck out.