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Point of Origin
- Wesleyan University Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
Point of Origin They feed me and feed me and feed me till the last passions of the airport parting are as far away as any other earth. The cruelties, the furies of recrimination (which is love) will pass. In a minute, it's an hour ago. Varieties of cloud go by, varieties of blue. There's always sun somewhere, a clear to swear by, and I do. Because we argued to the very ramp, because I was the last to board, because a man of many years (nobody knew his language) occupied my given seat, I get to go first class. A present! And the presents multiply, till soon I am mistaking luck for privilege—I taste a couple of lunches, have my little weep in private, take a glass of wine to make abstractions of, in geometric ports of light. But all the while behind me there, where calm cannot be bought, where I was meant to stay—somebody's baby cries and cries and cries, impossible to pacify. 172 ...