Quotes by Marge Piercy

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The ruling class isn’t dissatisfied: they are healthy, well-fed, live in beauty, enjoy their own importance: fun-loving cannibals.

Burning dinner is not incompetence but war.
Grandmother Hannah comes to me at Pesach and when I am lighting the sabbath candles. The sweet wine in the cup has her breath. The challah is braided like her long, long hair.
The New Year is a great door that stands across the evening and Yom Kippur is the second door. Between them are song and silence, stone and clay pot to be filled from within by myself.
Those candles were laid out, friends invited, ingredients bought for latkes and apple pancakes, that holiday for liberation and the winter solstice when tops turn like little planets.
Bless the gift of memory / that breaks unbidden, released / from a flower or a cup of tea / so the dead move like rain through the room.
Holy is the hand that works for peace and for justice, / holy is the mouth that speaks for goodness / holy is the foot that walks toward mercy.
We will try to be holy, / We will try to repair the world given to us to hand on. / Precious is this treasure of words and knowledge and deeds / that moves inside us.
Menopause--word used as an insult: a menopausal woman, mind or poem as if not to leak regularly or on the caprice of the moon, the collision of egg and sperm, were the curse we first learned to call that blood.
O my love O my love we dance under the chuppah standing over us like an animal on its four legs, like a table on which we set our love as a feast, like a tent under which we work not safe but no longer solitary in the searing heat of our time.
I mourn in grey, grey as the sleeted wind the bled shades of twilight, gunmetal, battleships, industrial paint.

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