And the fire in your eyes/Keeps me alive

Sometimes on rainy rainy days like this I would scoop Finn up and take him to my bed and read poetry to him. Poetry that was large and big with nary a rhyme. Today is the first day I have done this with Blaise. We dropped of Finn at preschool and hurried back to the house to climb into the bed and pull quilts up and just be.

It was dark and the rain loud on the window panes and he listened to me drop spells from my mouth. Because that is what Odysseus Elytis wrote were spells...I know they are called poems, but they are more than poems to me.

The Greeks they love their love.

When I lived on Mykonos I witnessed a large jolly fisherman that I often saw at the taverna and he was crying in the street outside my work... night after night one week during that July he was stumbling up the cobblestones singing sad songs in Greek.
Drunk and sad
Crying and yelling in the narrow streets

After the third night I saw him I asked my friend about him and he told me that the fisherman was crying for his love. Apparently the fisherman and his lover (a woman who loved him but refused to be with him) have met once a summer on the island for many years and the fisherman drinks and drinks like that after she leaves to go back to her real family.

Stab the heart. Stab it.

Anyways, this book also stabs my heart..
and I thought nothing could beat reading it on Rohari St.
on the island
until a fat baby looked up at me dreamy like
and signed the sign for more when I stopped reading.

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