She’s Still Something To Me

I’m still reading Nancy Milford’s biography of Edna St Vincent Millay – Savage Beauty.  I didn’t know that she was addicted to various drugs of her day.  I keep re-reading that part.  I skipped to that part.  I want to see how all the parts of her life, before her addiction, play into it.  Can only read this a small bit at a time.

When my parents would argue, my mother would lie on her bed reading, from the Collected Works of Edna St. Vincent Millay, and sobbing.  So she’s in my blood somehow.  I also own her collected works.

I suppose life just can get to be too much.  I know it can.  I see it happening all around me and all around my country and the world.

Ah well, anyways, she’s still something to me.

Ellespeth

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