Departure

by The Editor

 

 

-Edna St. Vincent Millay
 
02_08
 
It’s little I care what path I take,
 
And where it leads it’s little I care;
 
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
 
I must go, and off somewhere.
 
nora shopova by john ciamillo.
 
It’s little I know what’s in my heart,
 
What’s in my mind it’s little I know,
 
But there’s that in me must up and start,
 
And it’s little I care where my feet go.
 
alex armstrong.
 
I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
 
And find me at dawn in a desolate place
 
With never the rut of a road in sight,
 
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.
 
 
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I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
 
And drop me, never to stir again,
 
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
 
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.
 
 
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But dump or dock, where the path I take
 
Brings up, it’s little enough I care;
 
And it’s little I’d mind the fuss they’ll make,
 
Me huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.
 
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“Is something the matter, dear,” she said,
 
“That you sit at your work so silently?”
 
“No, mother, no, ’twas a knot in my throat.
 
There goes the kettle, I’ll make the tea.”
 
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