FROM PRYNNE'S FIRST COLLECTED POEMS - 1962
Quittance
Such swollen hands she
Had, the old one, wrenching
Her purse, dredging for
Coins; her face folded
In fixed unconcern, the
Fingers only speaking and
So terribly swollen.
“Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke
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