A mushy illustration for every relationship by Ruby Taylor
I keep unplanning the same Sunday. Leg
and flower, breeze and terrier, I have no garden
and couldn’t be happier. Please, don’t lose me
here. I am sorry my clutch is all
tendon and no discipline: the heart is a severed
kind of muscle and alone.
I can hear yours in your room. I hear mine
in another room. In another’s.
—Brenda Shaughnessy, from “Epithalament”
"I’m studying to be a librarian."
"What’s the sexiest part about being a librarian?"
"I’d say the width of our knowledge. The rest of academia seems to have a rather specific focal point, whereas librarians need to know enough to serve as a guide for researchers of every discipline."
The city has drawn a blank. How big
you are; a tarmac in the cool summer.
You pretend to love them all. Let
is a word like a creek in spring.
We are strangers; there are ways
to lie. There are trees, there are
trees, there are trees. The wind
does many things. A Hungarian sign
is not unlike your mouth. I never claimed
gravity, strength. From the left, a cot
has great significance. Like the city
we squeeze in tight for a photograph.
I love this part, from fiction writer Mallory Hellman:
4:07 pm - I’m late to pick everyone up, and I’m the one leading our lesson today. When I pull up to Dey House, all four of my fellow Youth Writing Project volunteers are assembled on a snowbank waiting for me. One holds a bag full of construction paper. Another shivers under a hat with long ear flaps. Troopers. They get in, and I gently disrespect the speed limit until we’ve reached Cedar Rapids.
4:45 pm – Our gang of ten is happy to see us, even though we didn’t come bearing snacks. We cluster three tables together in the classroom and hang up our laminated Writing Club sign.
5:15 pm - Teonie, who is eight, has written an ode to tacos and nachos. Most of it is a meditation on her two favorite foods’ similarities, concluding with a tenderly inflected, “Are you sisters?” This leads, naturally, to a heated debate about which foods are sisters, which are brothers, which might be cousins, and which aren’t related at all.
5:45 pm – Lasagna and calzones are parents to spaghetti. Pizza is a cousin, on the calzone side of course. Macaroni wants to be in the family but isn’t – it rolls with the hot dish instead. Peaches and plums go hand in hand, but mangoes and green peppers have never met. Avocados and pears hate it when they’re mistaken for sisters.
from “Untitled" by Laurie Sheck:
Distance is the soul of the beautiful,
she had read, and she imagines an unknown planet
revolving in deep space, blue waves
in tender exile from the land.
Remorseless. Without witness.
If she could go there
she would possess nothing.
How beautiful the earth
might seem again from that distance.
How possible love.
I could find no trace of the old yellow cabins, nor even locate the site. Things disappear, too, utterly.