Life: March 2003 Archives

My wife was reading Voice, and she tells me clocks don't leap forward until next week.

I just punctured my thumb with a paper clip. There's a little red dot of blood that, if I don't suck it, pools, then drips. A bandaid would help.

My wife says I'm obsessed with blood in poems. Not too long ago I read through a lot of old work, and blood in fact was here and there. Oh, well--perhaps I've always had this wound in my thumb.

Recently on the Sainteros blog there was a post condemining the military's use of the word awe. I've always thought of awe as meaning something positive. A beautiful sunset, the rapids of the Niagara River, the way my wife looks at me with love in her eyes, a good poem--all those things fill me with awe. They leave me with an overwhelming feeling of wonder. They leave me with the feeling that the world is good. The military has hijacked awe and made it mean instead something destructive, something that leaves you witha profound fear. That's a meaning also of awe, but it's the second meaning. Most people, before this war, have more than likely equate awe with the positive connoation.