Saturday, July 26, 2008
Mairead Byrne's "The Russian Week"
We've been on the road, and sorry sick of it, but finally back in our nest. We were like nesting dolls, matryoshki, little mothers, giving birth to diminished versions of ourselves, nested in ourselves, wooden, painted with expressions, unable to move but moved by whatever moved us. So here, upon return, I come across dear Mairead's poem, which I'd heard some time ago, and it's grown, it's given birth to something else. Everyone has had these weeks.