Monday, April 18, 2011

still, you're older than you feel

(from the random album; vintage photograph, unknown photographer or precise date.)

You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

(from the random album; Emile Bayard's somewhat infamous "Cosette Sweeping".)

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

(from the random album; Irina Shapchits in a performance of the ballet Coppélia.)

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

(from the random album; 'Samara', attributed variously to Natalie Shau, 'BlueBlack'
[deactivated deviantArt account] or adriana85 [deactivated deviantArt account].)

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

(from the random album; picture of the 'Sine' doll from the first series of Little Apple Dolls;
photographer lagreenwitch.)

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

~ Margaret Atwood, "A Sad Child", from Morning in the Burned House: New Poems, copyright 1995 by Margaret Atwood, printed by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.)

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