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2003-03-05
Vivienne Eliot (b. Vivienne Haigh-Wood)
B. 5.1888 Bury, England / D. 1.1947 London
Confinement
Because I do not choose to give him satisfaction, I keep the husband on my shelf of the Americans, sometimes.
Today as I approached the altar, one among twenty or so shuffling women in sweaters, I felt clumsy, diffident. I hadn�t gotten the ashes in years, didn�t know what to do with my hair.
Because she edited, or because she did it well, she would not experience forgiveness.
It is near�a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes, their like has never been
Because he could not hope to escape the judgment of god-bothered American women (whom he knew well), he fled
Flat-footing up to the altar in our comfies, women of colors, come to be stained with a protective X.
To the garden, to the spirit of the garden, to the blue rocks.
When shoulder to shoulder we stood, suddenly I saw ruins. There were blackened slabs of windowed wall, the turnings of a schoolhouse stair exposed, and cordoned pits billowing pollution into the weak face of the London noonday.
Consolation Site: This bag of ferrets