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The Important Thing is to give with abandon and when you are the most naked, so that your hunger turns into fields of gleaming fruit trees and your frail and aging body harbors a spirit that dwarfs mountains, so that your giving is a path towards endless vistas like the dying man telling his art student during her very last visit, "If only I had a few pears I could paint." She thought it was to assuage her grief, yet when he died, the pears began to bloom on her canvases with the quivering of new flesh, the sad flames of sunset, the translucence of tears. Like the woman in a Hungarian prison whose birthday gift to her cell mate was a rose made out of toilet paper, a flower that survived her execution. The important thing is to give, randomly and out of poverty, not knowing whether the heart’s pale shoots will create leaves or perish. |
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Issue #29, October, 2002 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.