“You and George didn’t go back on your promises.”
She laughed. “Lemme tell ya something, sweetface. I have been married at least four times, to four different men.” She watched him chew that over for a moment before continuing, “They’ve all been named George Edwards but, believe me, the man who is waiting for me down the hall is a whole lot different animal from the boy I married, back before there was dirt. Oh, there are continuities. He has always been fun and he has never been able to budget his time properly and - well, the rest is none of your business.”
“But people change,” he said quietly.
“Precisely. People change. Cultures change. Empires rise and fall. Shit. Geology changes! Every ten years or so, George and I have faced the fact that we have changed and we’ve had to decide if it makes sense to create a new marriage between these two new people.” She flopped back against her chair. “Which is why vows are such a tricky business. Because nothing stays the same forever. Okay. Okay! I’m figuring something out now.” She sat up straight, eyes focused somewhere outside the room, and Jimmy realized that even Anne didn’t have all the answers and that was either the most comforting thing he’d learned in a long time or the most discouraging. “Maybe because so few of us would be able to give up something so fundamental for something so abstract, we protect ourselves from the nobility of a priest’s vows by jeering at him when he can’t live up to them, always and forever.” She shivered and slumped suddenly, “But, Jimmy! What unnatural words. Always and forever! Those aren’t human words, Jim. Not even stones are always and forever.”"
— ― Mary Doria Russell, The Sparrow (via eukafkasialtii)
i guess i will never talk about it.
shame preserves fear-
i have forgotten him, mostly.
but never you. your smell like sickness.
the air knocked out of my lungs
and your hands on me.
even now, i question my right
to condemn you.
even now, i don’t know how i could
ever, ever write about it.
what are the facts.
thank you to the only one who saved me,
i with i could teach who i was then the power of no,
i wish you weren’t embedded in my winces
after all these years
every day has become a survival technique!
still nursing the wounds of my
always wounded parents-
catholic school mama with that stubborn temper
tempting grandpas pre-parkinsons
farmer hands into fists.
stony walled papa with the worst kept secret and the piles and piles of bottles.
tucked into himself like a promise.
i am still learning the strength in confession.
hiding my fear in stanzas-
i am my mother’s daughter,
terrified of getting on my knees, a mule
who cries at commercials
i am my father’s daughter,
too ready to run away, very passionate
about sad songs and books i will never end up reading.
i am scared.
accidentally missing laura stevenson tonight bc i am seeing the orwells before against me and i didn’t know she was opening: (
good day things-
emilys lebanese deli
really early morning walks
apple orchards/produce picking
"i think it’s disgusting,
the way these parents
don’t teach their children english-
why make our jobs harder?”
words from a woman who teaches third graders-
conferences were last week and half of her families
broke up their english for her. skipping word endings,
or adding vowels. turning to each other in quick spanish
or somali. hmong and nepali.
you see, this in minneapolis-
we’ve got years of whiteness at our backs.
we forget that our language was never here to begin with.
do you really want to keep a father from loving his daughter
in his native tongue?
kuv tais, gabadhayda, mi angel
you complain to me about the difficulty of your job
when theirs is a million times harder-
sending their babies to you with wishes on their lips
that this strange woman will teach their children how to show off the wings
that have always been there,
if only we could understand the sounds of their flight
they break their words like bread for you,
the sharp sounds falling over their tongue.
you can not even give thanks.
hhhhhhhhhhh I am a jerk