It has been a long, tired, emotional week in this house (we seem to be specializing in those lately… must be winter.) Fave has been away, Fabes is teething like a maniac (again… still?), and I am just at the end of my wits and running on sleep-fumes, which is usually when I want to write beautiful things, but I’m maybe even a touch too tired for that. So instead.
My lovely friend Sarah shared a bit of an e.e. cummings poem on her page a few days back, a poem that I love, and it mended something in my tired little spirit. I love e.e. cummings, have always loved him, have always craved and devoured and re-read his work – his bending of the language is a large part of what inspired me to start seeing how I, too, could twist it around. I write, in part, because he wrote.
I hope this reaches your tired spaces the way it lit up mine. I think we all need little beautiful somethings to fuel us, sometimes, even when we are surrounded by massive wonders and wonderful folks and blessings counted. There’s a little magic in something beautiful, and sweet, and small.
Wishing you the dreamiest of weekends.
You are tired,
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)
You have played,
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
So am I.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.