My brain is full,

stuffed to the meninges with science expo scheduling, student project troubleshooting, consideration of what it means to eat well, and assorted personal scheming.  Somehow I’ve still been reading – on weekend mornings I realize my bed is full of books discarded as I drifted into third-time-over-this-paragraph slumber – so I give you this, apropos of nothing but lovely, perhaps?

I used myself, let nothing use me.
Like being on a private dole,

sometimes more like cutting bricks in Egypt.
What life there was, was mine,

now and again to lay
one hand on a warm brick

and touch the sun’s ghost
with economical joy.

-from “Thirty-three,” by Adrienne Rich

Anthologized in The Paris Review Book of Heartbreak, Madness, Sex, Love, Betrayal, Outsiders, Intoxication, War, Whimsy, Horrors, God, Death, Dinner, Baseball, Travels, the Art of Writing, and Everything Else in the World since 1953.


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