| Photo credit: rosiner from morguefile.com |
But with this sentence:
“Use your failures for paper.”
Meaning, I understood,
the backs of failed poems, but also my life.
Whose far side I begin now to enter–
A book imprinted without seeming reason,
each blank day bearing on its reverse, in random order,
the mad-set type of another.
December 12, 1960. April 4, 1981. 13th of August, 1974-
Certain words bleed through to the unwritten pages.
To call this memory offers no solace.
“Even in sleep, the heavy millstones turning.”
I do not know where the words come from,
what the millstones,
where the turning may lead.
I, a woman forty-five, beginning to grey at the temples,
putting pages of ruined paper
into a basket, pulling them out again.
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Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you. ~ Marsha Norman
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