February 13, 2011

For everyone who has ever loved

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
by e. e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Growing up and into adulthood, my mom frequently told me “You think too much. Don’t think so much.” She probably wanted to spare me the heartbreak and sadness she had in her life. Her advice didn’t stick.

Now in my 60s, encouraged by my husband Bill and a number of friends who’ve read my long, possibly tedious, e-mails on various subjects over the years, I'm putting my thoughts out for the world, or whoever stumbles across this site, to read.

You can’t post comments on this site, but if you’re compulsed to say something, you can drop me a note.

C

To the love of my life

My husband Bill is my editor, critic, personal Crayola King, and the designer of this site. He makes me better than I am.

C

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