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The Princess of a Whorehouse: The Story of a Swamp Lotus

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Mayank Sharma

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“the phantom of the man-who-would-understand, the lost brother, the twin --- for him did we leave our mothers, deny our sisters, over and over? did we invent him, conjure him over the charring log, nights, late, in the snowbound cabin did we dream or scry his face in the liquid embers, the man-who-would-dare-to-know-us? It was never the rapist: it was the brother, lost, the comrade/twin whose palm would bear a lifeline like our own: decisive, arrowy, forked-lightning of insatiate desire It was never the crude pestle, the blind ramrod we were after: merely a fellow-creature with natural resources equal to our own.”

LovePoetryFeminismMankind
Book:The Dream of a Common Language
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“My mom used to say, ‘Life isn’t fair,’“ said Shadow. “Of course she did,” said Wednesday. “It’s one of those things that moms say, right up there with ‘If all your friends jumped off a cliff would you do it too?’” “You stiffed that girl for ten bucks, I slipped her ten bucks,” said Shadow, doggedly. “It was the right thing to do.” Someone announced that their plane was boarding. Wednesday stood up. “May your choices always be so clear,” he said.”

ChoicesIntegrityFair
Book:American Gods
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