If I threw a rock down the gullet of this deep, lonely blog, would it hit at the bottom? Would it splash into some river run-off of old melancholy or all has that all dried up? Lodge itself into the thick damp remnants of fear. Or would that flung rock just hit the dry, cracked … More Echo echo echo echo….
Letters of My Body Dear Feet. Please stop for a moment – please stop jiggling worriedly or pushing shyly beneath the blanket on the couch. I’ve written a poem for you in Morse code. There, dotted along your tops where the sun tenders that thin skin. I’ve dotted the tops of your big toes – … More Letters of My Body
Do you read The Paris Review Interviews? Beautiful bits of writerly wisdom and insight. A recent link in my Twitter feed pointed me to the 1986 interview of W.S. Merwin, one of the first poets I read in my second stint of university, a time when I was feeling so very connected to the art of words. Of the many ways to understand and define … More W.S. Merwin On Poetry: “The completeness of life.”
Field mice tell lies better than my husband when he began to fail, first in the evenings, counting out the rows and weights of the day’s downed wheat. his fingers an abacus on mother’s old plaid oilcloth. He counted the season’s crop, the winter’s stock, winnowing numbers over and over until no space remained in … More The Farmer’s Wife