here first. until we are there.

in the tall grass

The Wildest Word

The Benedictines had it, they knew
the joys of silence, the illuminating of
manuscripts, the careful diffusion of
esoteria.

The pleasures of abstinence.

Get to a point where you can deny yourself anything
and then you are halfway there, some say.
And poems are made
of love not made.

Emily Dickinson refused
the offered touch and reveled in her own
self abnegation. “The wildest word
consigned to man is No,” she wrote.

“You love me best when I refuse.”

“Imagined love is better than the real,
and occupies the highest branch of Eden’s tree,”
wrote Edna St. Vincent Millay.

“Like fallen fruit, lived love is cheap.”

June Robertson Beisch
——

then i am cheap.

On another note, today is Bram Stoker’s and Margaret Mitchell’s birthday. I’ve always been fascinated by vampires and Papa used to watch Gone with the Wind once a year for several years.

On some days, there are no stories to tell. And days like this, you just watch and listen.

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One response

  1. the city reader

    “you love me best when i refuse.”–WOW! =)

    November 11, 2005 at 7:39 am

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