Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Canary Poem by Rita Dove
Billie Holiday's burned voice
had as many shadows as lights,
a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano,
the gardenia her signature under that ruined face.
(Now you're cooking, drummer to bass,
magic spoon, magic needle.
Take all day if you have to
with your mirror and your bracelet of song.)
Fact is, the invention of women under siege
has been to sharpen love in the service of myth.
If you can't be free, be a mystery.
- Rita Dove
Happy Monday, my friends. I never believed money is the root of all evil or that money is bad. Not at all. I grew up with a good appreciati...