Still Life
by
The blue against a burned umber or ochre wall, the blue against lush grass, against a white linen shirt unbuttoned and splayed, a blue of such staggering intensity, the memory too easy to find in the opaque past. Flesh and love always next
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“Every woman’s body is an intimate landscape. The hills, the valleys, the narrow ledges, the riverbanks, the sudden eruptions of soft or crinkling hair. Here are the plains, the fine dry slopes. Here are the woods, here is the smooth path to the only door I wish to walk through. Eleanor’s body is the landscape of my true home.”
― White Houses
― White Houses
Liz’s 2025 Year in Books
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