Sunday, May 1, 2011

Paula Gunn Allen

Out in the light on sitting alone.
Sorting, straightening tangled skins.
(They're always trying lives in knots.)
I would like to be sleeping. Not
dreaming, just black out:
no one bumping, around in my brain-
no angels, no deaths, just quite
empty nests, just threads
lying straight and ordered and still.
outside the window I can see
sweet winter birds
Rise up from tall weeds
chattering. They fly
into sunrisen sky that holds them
in light.
(Allen, 1992: 1989)

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