The poem, “anyone lived in a pretty how town,” by e.e. cummings is one of my favorites. I always go back to it for some reason. I love to read it. I love to listen to it. I love to twirl snippets of it around in my head. What I like most about it is that at first glance it seems as though it should make absolutely no sense at all. And yet it does make sense somehow. Pieces of it make so much sense that it always surprises me. How can so many out of place words fit where they don’t belong at all? It’s a wonderful poem.
a pretty how town September 23, 2008