Too Late

My friend The Swede sent me this one Just Today. She sends wonderful poems. And for the world of memory that is always tugging at the corners of my mind, this one seemed particularly appropriate. We are Always Too Late MemoryIs in two parts. First the re-visiting: the way even now I can seethose lovers … More Too Late


Bill’s parents, Bill and Carolyn, made our trip to the Caribbean possible, you know. I mean, I did have to get permission (and a substitute) to leave school for a week. And Bill did have (happily) a week’s worth of personal days left at his old job so that he could get away. But even … More Pay-Backs


So my younger sister Emily (the one who is an editor for Merriam-Webster— yes, the dictionary), gave me a page-a-day calendar for Christmas. A page-a-day of words. What a great gift for me. I’m loving it on several levels, and the first is also the most base: I Love it when I already know the … More Page-a-Day

On Memory

There are in our existence spots of timeWhich with distinct preeminence retainA fructifying virtue, whence, depressedBy trivial occupations and the roundOf ordinary intercourse, our minds–Especially the imaginative power–Are nourished and invisibly repaired…. — William Wordsworth, The Two-Part Prelude of 1799

A Song for Bill

Every year I shed you like a skinto fall to the ground and be scattered by the windbut I know you’ll keep coming backyour grand entrance like some aphrodesiac and I love to watch you exit the scenewalking away in slow-motion in your dirty blue jeanssomething about you just loves to walk awaybut I don’t … More A Song for Bill

At Our House

It happens– easily– once a week, and this despite the fact that I do laundry Almost Daily. I just don’t do white loads daily, and herein lies the problem. This morning was, apparently, the foreordained day for the weekly occurrence: Will standing somewhere on the first floor of the house, barefooted, announcing to me that … More At Our House