“A Girl Writing”
by Henriette Browne
circa 1870
Immersed in talk and letters
we lumber along like
whales fluking through
flickering schools of fish.
Minds dip all day into words,
seining food from conversations
and roving stacks of books.
We gather, compose, revise —
slowly meaning more.
The craft reads life, works stories,
sometimes even raises souls
who’ve barely written
for years and years.
Lazarus approved and appreciated… nice weaving Watt.
Thank you Vinny. Your mention of Lazarus prompted me to explore other literary references. Something led me to this exquisitely disturbing poem by Sylvia Plath, who killed herself within a year of writing it.
Some days humanity feels entombed in tragedy. We need miracles, so desperately. How do we live healthy productive lives as creatures who turn the world into words (and vice-versa, perhaps)? How do we serve?
I’m grateful to seek answers to such questions with good friends like you. Look forward to reading more of your work as part of our conversation.