By Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said)
To the homeland carved
into our lives like a tomb,
out of millennial hibernation, from the dark
of our crippled
history: a sun, none too worshipful,
will come to strike the locust
and the sheikh of sand dead --
and time as it sprouts over the plain
and dries, like mushrooms, over the plain.
A sun fond of sundering and eager
to annihilate, from behind
this bridge, will rise.
Nothing like a poem about the beginning of the end of the world for a Thursday morning.
Yesterday I finished reading Master and Commander and read the first page of Post Captain. I watched this week's Smallville though I still haven't managed to watch last week's Smallville, and I just realized that I have not seen this week's Sex and the City which I am watching out of a perverse desire to give a shit when the series ends. I drove my children outside into the snow even though they complained that their feet were cold and they wanted to stay inside and watch Johnny English again. I had a very long telephone conversation with my college roommate and a somewhat shorter one with my very oldest friend, whom I have known since we were six, who hosts a Superbowl party every year and was making sure we were coming, as if we'd miss it.
And another GIP, because I really need another kick-ass woman. Eowyn vs. the Kai would certainly be something to watch...