pantoum's Diaryland Diary

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THIS MORNING

I just spent a wonderful hour doing karate catas while looking out the window at the rain that is supposed to turn to snow as the day progresses (which does not bode well for the thirty or so flowers that are blooming in my yard).

My ankles remain weak, but the catas are getting smoother and I can definitely sink down into my stances more.

Pilates classes begin today. This should get my abdominal muscles back into shape in short order, which is a necessary step for well-executed karate moves.

Had two glasses of red wine as I worked on The Great American Novel last night. Haven't had much to drink lately, and either didn't drink enough water before bed or my body just didn't like those sulfites, because my head's a little stuffy today. Good reminder that drinking is, really, just putting poison into my body and I'm better off sticking to water most days.

THIS MORNING
Muriel Rukeyser

Waking this morning,
a violent woman in the violent day
laughing.
Past the line of memory
along the long body of your life
in which move childhood, youth, your lifetime of touch,
eyes, lips, chest, belly, sex, legs, to the waves of the sheet.
I look past this little planet
on the city windowsill
to the tall towers—bookshapes, crushed together in greed,
the river flashing flowing corroded,
the intricate harbor and the sea, the wars, the moon the planets
all who people space
in the sun visible invisible.
African violets in the light
breathing, in a breathing universe. I want strong peace, and delight,
the wild good.
I want to make my touch poems:
to find my morning, to find you entire
alive moving among the anti-touch people.

I say across the waves of the air to you:
today once more
I will try to be non-violent
one more day
this morning, waking this world away
in this violent day

9:13 a.m. - 2005-03-16

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