There is now time
for the cryptic to pass,
for the presumption to leave,
for the straight forward to walk
and the rest to leave.
Take me by the hand
and show me.
Let next pass.
This that shall see, me.
This, in its time to be.
"Listen here," he said. "I don't care if he's good or not. He ain't right!"
Is he? Right?
O'Connor devoted her short life to writing,
a serious Catholic woman from Georgia, a pinch of cynicism from the South.
The stories are said to be bizarre and haunting
colored I'm certain by the beliefs and readings of a youth dipped
in old religion and the virtuous twists in old worn torn stories,
words that raise fists in the air.
A view perhaps of a world
we do not wish to live in,
and yet she did
for a brief while
and brought us this.
The Complete Stories.