©东予薏米 jade rabbits making mooncakes for mid-autumn festival
A friend once asked me for a sign
That the universe loved us.
I told her I had taken a bath today.
The water was green and the perfect temperature
The sky was darkening and the light was on
The room smelled like the ginger bread I had brought from the kitchen
Mixed with the eucalyptus of my bath oil.
A song played
It reminded me of a home we moved out of when I was eight.
It reminded me of my nanny teaching me how to paint my nails when my parents left the house
I would sit on a bar stool
My toes would barely brush the ground.
Oh, the universe loves us
The bath water was the perfect temperature today.
by Leigh Hunt
Jenny kiss’d me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in! Say I’m weary, say I’m sad, Say that health and wealth have miss’d me, Say I’m growing old, but add, Jenny kiss’d me.
the empty queen: my life is for the people of naboo
star wars meets the eras of feminism, valerie estelle frankel / attack of the clones script third draft, cut dialogue / the phantom menace script / anne carson / judith herman / star wars tales #5, terry moore / constance grady
Hmmmm hm. Okay. Worldbuilding/story idea.
One million years after humanity disappears, octopi and ravens have independently developed sapience. And one day an octopus child and an elder raven meet at the edge of the ocean.
Where is your mother and father? asks the raven. I have no mother or father, says the octopus, blushing pale. All octopi are children. Once we’re grown, we will mate and we will die. It is the first and the last thing our mothers tell us.
But that’s horrible, says the raven. It’s not all bad, says the octopus. We play, we hunt, we make games for ourselves in the deep. Yes, but who remembers your songs? the raven says. Who passes down your stories?
What is a story? the octopus asks.
And the raven thinks about this question. And finally it says: A story is how you remember things in the past. It is how you know where you come from, and what happened before you were born. A story can be a warning, or it can be advice, or it can be a silly joke told to make you feel good. Someone remembers the story and tells it to the next generation, who remember the story and tells it to the generation after them.
And the octopus thinks about this answer. And finally it says: Can you tell me a story?
And the raven tells the octopus a story. And it’s a good story. And the next day the octopus returns and asks for another. The next day it brings its octopus friends, and the raven brings its raven friends, and many stories are shared on the edge of the ocean.
Months later, the octopus returns to the raven. I am grown, it says. I am returning to the sea to find a mate and lay my brood. I will not be coming back. I’m sorry.
I will miss your company, says the raven.
I have one thing to ask you, says the octopus. In time my children will come to the edge of the ocean. I would like you to tell them a story I have made. And when they have stories of their own, I would like your children to remember them and pass them down to my children’s children.
Of course, says the raven. What is your story about?
And the octopus thinks, and says: It is about an octopus child and an elder raven who meet at the edge of the ocean.
And this story has been passed down to this day.
For legal reasons, pretend this is not a confession. [x]
this is going to be difficult -> i am capable of doing difficult things -> i have done everything prior to this moment -> this difficulty will soon be proof of capability
Ohara Koson (1877-1945) "Night-Heron with Raised Leg Perched on a Willow Branch,"
Mohja Kahf, “Most Wanted”, Hagar Poems
(She/her) Hullo! I post poetry. Sometimes. sometimes I just break bottles and suddenly there are letters @antagonistic-sunsetgirl for non-poetry
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