By Claude McKay
Your door is shut against my tightened face,
And I am sharp as steel with discontent;
But I possess the courage and the grace
To bear my anger proudly and unbent.
The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,
A chafing savage, down the decent street;
And passion rends my vitals as I pass,
Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.
Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,
Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw,
And find in it the superhuman power
To hold me to the letter of your law!
Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate
Against the potent poison of your hate.
Our plan for the day was to meet my in-laws in Baltimore. Unfortunately, older son had decided Saturday that his stomach was so completely recovered that he could eat nachos with spicy cheese dip while playing with a friend, and spent all night sick again. So much for getting to see the new Australia exhibit. Since we were up till 4:30 and then slept till 10, the background noise of the day -- Steelers/Colts and Panthers/Bears -- was already on before I was really awake and functional. I went to visit perkypaduan along with younger son, who, it must be admitted, might have been more interested in seeing Georgie the cat who will be moving out with Perky's former roommate soon, which is a point of great sadness for my son who has known her since she was a kitten.
I went one for one cheering today, but the team I really cared about lost while the team I was only rooting for because I disliked the other team more won, so it is hard for me to be excited about the rest of the football season. Since I tend to spend as much time socializing, eating and watching the cool commercials at the Superbowl party as I do watching the game, this is probably just as well. At least the TV was mine this evening for The West Wing in which CJ rocked but otherwise I couldn't even remember what happened without being reminded by my son later, after watching the second half of Henry VIII on PBS which was still way too Six Wives and way too little Everything Else but the acting and lovely settings made it greatly enjoyable anyway, particularly Sean Bean with a Yorkshire accent and getting to see York itself! Interesting how sympathetic they made Catherine Howard; I never felt particularly sorry for her, since by all accounts she was stupid enough to cheat even if it was unfair that she was pressured to marry this tyrannical much older man. Oh to have been ugly Anne of Cleves, who never even had to sleep with him!
Since I already started a bird theme for the weekend, this is the clearest photo I could get of the cardinal pair that comes to the bird feeder on our deck and drives the cats crazy -- bright red male in the feeder, distorted by glare off our in-need-of-Windex sliding glass doors, duller russet female on the handle of the little grill. Both have very orange beaks.
Happy Martin Luther King Day. Here is "I Have a Dream."