A breast exhausted

The Pear
by Vinicius de Moraes, trans. Ashley Brown

As if of wax
And by chance
Cold in the dish
Growing late

The pear is a fruit
Burnt offering
To life, like
A breast exhausted

Among bananas
Extraneous
And apples, candid

Ruddy, content
The poor pear:
Who brings it to be?

In An Anthology of Twentieth-Century Brazilian Poetry, Edited, with an Introduction by Elizabeth Bishop and Emanuel Brasil. A gift of Fotodiario.

Another day of pure gratitude. Had my eye exam and my eyes are as good as they were two years ago. With my glasses, I see 20/15. Fabulous. Home with pupils as big as my head, I found a gift in the mail: a book of Brazilian poetry. Now the big-pupil-eyes fill with tears. Thank you, Fernando. Thank you. Also this hilarity from Spoor of the Bookworm.

All the selves we have been: they converge and have a party, a dance. My old cat and I love each moment we have left. A comment from dear friend Giacomo reminded me of this story today: a Buddhist nun on a long pilgrimage slipped on a precipice. She held onto a thin branch for dear life, and at the bottom of the precipice was a ravenous tiger. The branch began to give, and she spotted a wild strawberry and plucked it. As she fell toward the maw of the tiger, she smiled with joy for the taste of the strawberry.