Two exams down, one paper to go! Meanwhile the late blooming rose opens its eyes among the withered and wrinkled heads of its brethren. This is who I think about, in that wet spit of time between exam and exam, history and theory, those questions of agency and representation. The late-to-bloom and her dead siblings. The vein that connects one Frida's heart to the other Frida's as they hold hands. The poem is a streak of light--star or promise of dawn--in the seemingly eternal night of history. Thank you, Derek Walcott. By the poem, by structure and metaphor combined, we glimpse the shape and stuff of shadows and distinguish our allies from our foes.




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