Wednesday, October 2, 2013

leave the dishes

from "Advice to Myself" by Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.
Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.
Don't even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.

{read the full poem here}

And if you were to write a poem today called, Advice to Myself, what would you say?

I would advise myself to write in my journal, have a cup of tea. Listen to the silence.

I would advise myself to listen to this.

I would read poetry. Think about what is necessary.

Roses, for example.

There are a few left out in the garden, but I had to bring some of the lovely late bloomers inside.

I would be remiss if I didn't add a link to the review by Tanis MacDonald of Hive: A Forgery on the wonderful Lemon Hound. If you're a writer, then you know that a reading of one's work such as this one is completely mind-blowing. Completely energizing. If the review has piqued your interest, then you might like to grab a copy here or here

A few last images of a rose I'd put in this glass as bud, and watched it unfurl and fill the space:

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