marichiko

Well, Brianna, let's start right here. Maybe I really am "histrionic" about my spelling. After all, a woman with my education ought to be able to spell "lose" or "philanthropist." It bugs the hell out of me to find myself staring at some common word and not knowing if I spelled it correctly or not. Mea Culpa.

As far as being concerned over the plight of the homeless and disenfranchised - yes, I am. I haven't posted about it that much since I've been back on The Cellar except for my essay on Clarity Rose a while ago, so I am rather puzzled as to why you would snipe at me about that. I have no idea how that Swiss thing will work out. Frankly, I'll believe it if I ever see it, and if I do see it, you can bet I'd keep much of it for myself. I would also give a chunk away to help in whatever way seemed most appropriate.

You write that you hope to one day teach literature. I think that's a wonderful goal. Books can and have helped to change the outlook of entire societies. If I wanted to understand you, what book would be the one that you feel the greatest affinity for? What author's words most closely mirror the one's of your own soul?

I'll go first. The poet, Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems:

Roses, Late Summer

What happens
to the leaves after
they turn red and golden and fall
away? What happens

to the singing birds
when they can't sing
any longer? What happens
to their quick wings?

Do you think there is any
personal heaven
for any us?
Do you think anyone,

the other side of that darkness,
will call to us, meaning us?
Beyond the trees
the foxes keep teaching their children

to live in the valley.
So they never seem to vanish, they are always there
in the blossom of light
that stands up every morning

in the dark sky.
And over one more set of hills,
along the sea,
the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness

and are giving it back to the world.
If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.

I would be a fox or a tree
full of waving branches.
I wouldn't mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.

Fear has not occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.

Brianna?