Left Bank

-
And here is the poem I wrote for you
on the Left Bank of the Seine
one sunny Spring afternoon
between the Ides of March and Easter:

My outstretched arm,
four broken pieces of shell,
blue porcelain egg
cupped in my hand like the water.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Longest Day

-
It is getting harder to update. This is mostly because I am exhausted, and reliving it all seems to just exhaust me a little bit more, but maybe if I can write a bit, I can fill in the gaps later. Or maybe I won't want to. I am torn between feeling a personal responsibility as a writer to document this and a personal responsibility as a person to rest. Yesterday was a long day. Matt and I rode up to Sandy, UT to tour another assisted living facility . It was beautiful. The woman who gave us the tour was sharp, responsible, compassionate, warm, and reassuring. Everyone we met was happy, calm, and like the Hospice people, just the nicest people you'll ever meet. The people who live there seemed engaged and happy, not just staring into space. They were participating in a social gathering that seemed like something that my mom could also participate in. It smelled good throughout-- like potpourri. I loathe the way assisted living facilities smell, but I couldn't get over how
Read more

Teenage boys are sex maniacs

-
Image
1. Christian: Can you imagine Wicked porn? Me: Er... yes. Can you? Christian: Elphaba, Glinda, and Dr. Dillamond. .. Me: Thank you. Thank you very much. Christian: I'm sorry-- is it bad that I talk about sex so much? Me: Nope. It's normal, healthy, and expected. 2. About five minutes later, Tommy came waltzing prancing into the kitchen. "European or Gay?" Definitely gay.  
Read more

Not a Nike commercial

-
Today, in an attempt to get my head back in the work game, I was sending out emails to my old/new Canadian clients. I have a contract with them right now that I am very excited about. I also have another grant due on Jan. 16, so I need to juggle a few projects. During the course of these emails, one young woman with whom I've had friendly contact before (both through working with her in November and then emailing about a project I did after that trip) was telling me about her  Comps for her PhD program. She is 27-- so young! I have come to realize lately one of the reasons it's so important for me to get a PhD (or maybe an MFA, or both). I have always known about myself that I wanted to get a PhD, even though those nearest and dearest to me who have PhDs (and whom I have watched suffer) think I'm insane. Especially if I insist (and I do) on waiting until the kids are out of the house (and, let's face it, probably out of college too) to get it. I won't make them
Read more