Happy Easter! I'm sitting here thinking about how happy I am for so many things -- my wonderful sister, dearest friends, people whose stories I read as I go through my week. Since the season of contemplating sadness and suffering is ending and we enter ordinary time, I cannot help but feel so very lucky. And much thanks to my dear friend Angela for her early birthday present of a GPS. I've never been able to get anywhere myself, so it's nice to have a voice to tell me where to go whenever I find myself lost in the darkness and even more often lost in the light.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Easter says you can put truth in a grave, but it won't stay there." Clarence W. Hall
Cocktail Hour
Drinking memoir suggestion: Candy Girl Diablo Cody
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Easter! I will be displaying happy little Easter toys later!
The truth will out.--Herman Northrop Frye
ReplyDeleteWe'll just go on with the business of the day.--Kwame
ReplyDeleteJesus was just some goofball who got himself crucified.-Geoffrey N. Fieger
ReplyDeleteVote for Me!! Kevorkian for Congress!! I'm on the "Felons for Freedom" platform!!--Dr. Death
ReplyDeleteIm gonna use a dirty pic of my girlfriend next time I make a blog, ill get the big hits, happy easter, anonymous eats a dick. mmmm good.
ReplyDeleteHappy Eastrers Michelle!!--Short bus and Special
ReplyDeleteKroger: Right store. Right price.--Mr. Whipple
ReplyDeleteHappy Easter.
ReplyDeleteYour Dog Dies
ReplyDelete--by Raymond Carver
it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
because it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on
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I don't know how fitting it is to share this poem the day after Easter, but what the heck. I just read it at another website and thought you would like to read it too. He certainly was a master.