Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was—
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved.
“First Memory” from Ararat by Louise Glück. Copyright © 1990.
Words for the Year 
I have not seen this poem in a long time. Stunning what she can say in just 42 words.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So so powerful.
LikeLike