Barefoot Gypsy Jimerson

“[Greens] don't come through the back door the same as other groceries. They don't cower at the bottom of paper bags marked 'Liberty.' They wave over the top. They don't stop to be checked off the receipt. They spill out onto the counter. No going onto shelves with cans in orderly lines like school children waiting for recess. No waiting, sometimes for years beyond the blue sell by date, to be picked up and taken from the shelf. Greens don't stack or stand at attention. They aren't peas to be pushed around. Cans can't contain them. Boxed in they would burst free. Greens are wild. Plunging them into a pot took some doing. Only lobsters fight more. Either way, you have to use your hands. Then, retrieving them requires the longest of my mother's wooden spoons, the one with the burnt end. Swept onto a plate like the seaweed after a storm, greens sit tall, dark, and proud.”
― Georgia Scott, American Girl: Memories That Made Me

“We kept on wandering on the island of roses,
Neither fear dared to touch us nor the grim thorns,
Ignoring the pattern of foes who won't let us flow,
Breaking shackles of darkness that never glows,
We chose to play hide and seek in the vicious sea,
Alas, the cynic in you floats far away in search of better,
And when I reached the shore, trust was no more.”
― Hareem Ch, Another World

“The moment I saw a dream of forever,
Your betrayal woke me up.
The moment I felt a touch of muse,
Your lies choke me up.
The moment I heard a tune of serenity,
Your abandonment tore me up.”
― Hareem Ch, Hankering for Tranquility

“How can I hope for the news of your arrival from these scattered autumn leaves?
Isn't it enough for the sun of my fragile heart to set at this moment?”
― Hareem Ch, Another World