Labor of Love

Someone who loves me might make these for my birthday while I read them the accompanying poem in an accent of their choosing. Just a suggestion.

And if they were really good cupcakes, I’d read this, too:

Breakage

BY MARY OLIVER

I go down to the edge of the sea.
How everything shines in the morning light!
The cusp of the whelk,
the broken cupboard of the clam,
the opened, blue mussels,
moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—
and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the moisture gone.
It’s like a schoolhouse
of little words,
thousands of words.
First you figure out what each one means by itself,
the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop
full of moonlight.
Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

Charleston, SC, 2010

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This entry was posted in Nonsense, Things to eat, Things to read and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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