September 28th, 2009
A Tiny, Gold Alarm: An Appreciation of Paul Valery
Tags/ Posted by Kate SherrodSee me reflected in the fairy tale mirror: the snarls of hair, the graying teeth, the skin smeared with mud and rain. I might have crawled out of the brush to hamstring you with a sharpened rock.continue reading this poem
My first memory of bees and their stings is indeed of a crying face: my younger sister’s. She was walking barefoot on our lawn in Saratoga, Wyoming’s brief summer. We were both still too young for school. One moment she was rambling along at a good clip on her babyish legs. The next, her face screwed up tight and a wail escaped her that I can still hear to this day. My mother rushed and swept her up into a tight hug and bundled her into the house.
