en
Patti Smith

Woolgathering

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  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    Crazy booty I often inventoried in the dead of night
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    I answer
    I do not wish to own
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    Nothing — an old spoon, a rudder, the remains of a walkie-talkie
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    I open my bundle and dump the contents in the furrows of the earth
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    for caught within my little gem was more misery and hope than one could fathom
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    Little droplets that somehow became gems gathered by beggars who trade them for rice
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    I had a ruby. Imperfect, beautiful like faceted blood. It came from India where they wash up on the shore
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    This uncommon bundle has always been my comfort, my happy burden
  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    I have always possessed a kind of knapsack, if nothing more than a piece of cloth or skin tied in a knot. My sack, worthy companion, produces, when opened, a world defined by its contents — fluxion, unique, beloved

    Como yo

  • mirepsphar citeretsidste år
    You are not forgotten.
    That’s his word
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