“What is the purpose of resisting corporate globalization if not to protect the obscure, the ineffable, the unmarketable, the unmanageable, the local, the poetic, and the eccentric?…Resistance is usually portrayed as a duty, but it can be a pleasure, an education, a revelation.” Rebecca Solnit

My heart is moved by all I cannot save:

so much has been destroyed


I have to cast my lot with those

who age after age, perversely,

with no extraordinary power,

reconstitute the world

-Adrienne Rich

The importance of poetry,  mystery, illogical, loving, earthy words has been on my  mind recently.

I found the following poem in one of the books I brought with me– I wrote it in January but have been thinking about it these days as I struggle to find hope and meaning in the midst of so much darkness. With no further ado:


Silence slices doubt into maybe. The mountains

bite into it, and the orange,

exploding, runs its juices all over

the now sticky clouds.

My soles slap the black gravel

as I run from my weakness;

the chanted “you can’t, can’t”

pushed out by my exhaled “Thank,

thank, thank you”

Behind me, the sweetness drains down

the sink of the valley,

In front, the darkness scrubs at

the sky. And morning

will remind me, again:

my deepest certainty is



as I put my wrist to your ear

like a shell

you’ll hear the swell pounding

maybe, maybe…

Like walking on the Galilee,

like the Ganges and the Danube,

maybe there are miracles

(inside rivers and wants)

maybe there are miracles inside

us when we move.

Restless souls are hard to sooth but

shores of lost make castles

of found. Though the water

breaks them all

sand comes from a rock.


the tide is ebbing.

The sun has set.


About Magelette

I use too many parentheticals, tend towards run-on sentences, and am a terrible self-editor. That being said I'm honest to a fault and fairly easily enchanted, so if you're into that, read on.
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