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Linda Pastan
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“Poetry has opened all my pores, / And pain as colorless as gas / moves in.”
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“I laughed once in my father's face, / and he laughed, and the two laughters / locked like bumpers / that still rust away between us.”
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“... I drown / in the loosed wave of language.”
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“At the armed borders of sleep / my dreams stand waving.”
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“Grief is a circular staircase.”
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“We carry our childhoods / in our arms.”
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“Like Midas, I guess / everything we touch turns / to a poem — / when the spell is on.”
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“In the evening / my griefs come to me / one by one.”
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“Dreams are the only / afterlife we know; / the place where the children / we were / rock in the arms of the children / we have become.”
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“All words, anyway / are epitaphs.”
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“What I remember / hardly happened; / what they say happened / I hardly remember.”
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“Spring is the shortest season.”
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“I have stalked / all four seasons / and seen how they beat / the same path / through the same woods / again and again.”
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“I made a list of things I have / to remember and a list / of things I want to forget, / but I see they are the same list.”
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“How loyal our childhood demons are, / growing old with us in the same house ...”
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“Crocuses. They come / by stealth, spreading the rumor of spring ...”
Linda Pastan, U.S. poet
(1932)