Susan and I look at saints at the Met, trackdown Lucy, Catherine, Justina, palmbranches and swords, peaceful told-you-soexpressions. We walk out past cornus masand daffodils, forsythia, to the Frick. Pasta woman,…
How quickly we turn from grateful to greedy.—Ann Patchett Everybody knows money can turn it all around.Cover rent, school loans, groceries, everything we require—we find fresh needs: wooden bowls. A…
In other news, this is the top. Weep for what little thingswould make them jealous. I publish a poem online, and people post comments. Smart little analyses, short papersthey might…
I love teaching people how to use a dictionary,watch them get faster than out-of-practice me, watch them learn ambivalent or incarceration,use them in their own new sentences. I teach men and women in…
I visit a high school and the high school kidsask if I still write poems for Josey. I didn’t remember kids don’t know the grown-ups allaround them are in love.…
In the dream I’m talking to Tony, weeping,a hundred questions on my tonguebut all he wants is to gaze upon Bukhara. Bukhara? What does Tony know about Uzbekistan?I’m trying to…
Nobody knows this but your fatheronce hit Stacker Lee upside the headwith a paving stone. He was better knownfor hitting the basso notes in “Nearer, My God, to Thee”at the…