Anyway, I am not completely sure why but my sister-in-law, Jenny, and I ended up talking about "The Bell Jar" this weekend. I mentioned that I wanted to read "The Bell Jar" and she said she did too. That, in fact, she had just finished reading "The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath" because she had heard "The Bell Jar" was largely autobiographical and she wanted to understand it better when she did read it. Well, I ended up borrowing "The Death and Life of Sylvia Plath" and will read "The Bell Jar" soon. I have also decided that I will buy it. I mean as opposed to checking it out of the library.
The library in Hitchcock, TX not only has hours that make me wonder "who beside that same kid on the computer makes it to the library before they close?" I, myself, have never been there earlier than 30 minutes before it was scheduled to close. Except the time I had to post fliers for camp. I was tempted to stay but I had to work. Beside the hours, the selection reminds me that I never should have been tempted in the first place. I believe their library is made up of all the thrift store books in the neighbouring areas. You know what I mean. Like ten copies of a science book from the sixties. Bobby and I had an excellent thrift store we used to go to in Spring Branch called MAM and it had an awesome book selection, but I have never been in another like it. Most thrift stores have the books that Half Price wouldn't give you any money for. Half Price employees probably take them in the back and chunk them for you, muttering: "You should be paying me to chunk these for you." Thrift stores only take them to fill up space. Anyway. The La Marque library is better. Not great, but significantly better. To sum it up, soon will come a Half Price Book/Jamba Juice smoothie night!
I also thought I would include in this post a poem I wrote a little over a year ago simply because I feel like making this post longer. It has been too long since I added to this blog!
GOOD MANNERS
Her petticoat covers
The red-blooded maiden legs
Underneath.
Ladylike, she crosses them
So they are incarcerated,
And strapping legs
Grow weak and womanly.
One hand hides the other
While they sit
Powerful and still in her lap
Gentle and refined,
Her polished poise
Is two-fisted now.
Sloping shoulders
Cloak well-built bones
Gallant, they hold up her girlish
And whimsical burdens.
All the while
Sensitive, soft, and shy
Her smile is all three
She has learned
To flex those muscles well.
They are her honor
A vigorous attempt at being deferential
This smile can be reproduced
Over and over.
Once a month she submits
To its pains
And bears a child-
Like resemblance
To women stouthearted,
Gone before her.
-Emily Chumchal Andrews
1 comment:
Oooo, I dig the poem. "One hand hides the other" -- like one side of our nature is hiding or dominating the other side.
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