HEAT – Poetry, by Hilda Doolittle

Her special gift (her grandmother), bestows a sense of mystical connection to the Moravians. Hilda Doolittle was born into the Moravian community of her artistic mother, in Pennsylvania, and reared in a Philadelphia. There, her father was director of the Flower Observatory. Her “The Gift” is cast in the voice of a child, who is cognizant of own dreams and fantasies of many generations of her family. The mystical access to the past (through visions and heiroglyphs), is essential to all autobiographically she write. https://www.amazon.com/Collected-Poems-1912-1944-Hilda-Doolittle/dp/0811209717

HEAT

O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop through this thick air, fruit cannot fall into heat that presses up and blunts the points of pears, and rounds the grapes. Cut the heat, plough through it, turning it on either side of your path.