The Gift

 

In memory of Ruth Stone (June 8th, 1915—November 19th, 2011)

 

“All I did was write them down wherever I was at the time, hanging laundry, baking bread, driving to Illinois. My name was attached to them on the page but not in my head because the bird I listened to outside my window said I couldn’t complain about the blank in place of my name if I wished to hold both ends of the wire like a wire and continue to sing instead of complain. It was my plight, my thorn, my gift—the one word in three I was permitted to call it by the Muse who took mercy on me as long as I didn’t explain.”

 

from Interstate (University of Pittsburgh Press)


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