Sister is funny

Elizabeth: Hey, guess the top two ways that I am more Minnesotan today?

me: hmmm

i give up

Elizabeth: 1.

I got my driver's license today

2.

It is too too terribly hot I just want to die from the hotness.

me: haahahahahahah

how hot?

Elizabeth: 92.

in MAY!

I want to go find the old church ladies in Hibbing

that are all, "Gosh gee, Al Gore can come to minnesota if he thinks the world is warming up!"

and Say, "Dammit! This is what happens when you fuck with Al Gore!"

More Polish Poets

Another Favorite, by Adam Zagajewski.

Little Waltz
The days are so vivid, so bright
that even the slim, sparse palms
are covered in the white dust of neglect.
Serpents in the vineyards slither softly,
but the evening sea grows dark and,
suspended overhead like punctuation
in the highest script, the seagulls barely stir.
A drop of wine’s inscribed upon your lips.
The limestone hills slowly melt
on the horizon and a star appears.
At night on the square an orchestra of sailors
dressed in spotless white
plays a little waltz by Shostakovich; small children
cry as if they’d guessed
what the merry music’s really saying.
We’ve been locked in the world’s box,
love sets us free, time kills us.


In my head, when I think of this poem, I always invert the last line to be "Time kills us, love sets us free". Like that, it is hopeful but a little trite. When I read it from a book I'm always a little suprised at the beautiful, abrupt bleakness of the last sentence, and urgentness it conveys.