chagall-mother

September 2, 2024

A desire comes to me to write, and to write in my faltering mother tongue, which, as it happens, I have not spoken since I left the home of my parents.

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Thought:

“All dripping in tangles green,
Cast up by a lonely sea,
If purer for that, O Weed,
Bitterer, too, are ye?”

Herman Melville | “The Tuft of Kelp”

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