from “We Don’t Know How to Say Goodbye …”
Why are we different from the rest?
Outdoors again, each of us turns his head.
Or else let’s sit in the graveyard
on the trampled snow, sighing to each other.
That stick in your hand is tracing mansions
in which we shall always be together.
— Anna Akhmatova
Trans. Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward
HOMESCHOOLING MOTHER OF 5, ALL THINGS DOMESTIC, MY CRAZY LIFE
poems, and the poet who poems them
(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction
It's always about writing...
Co-author of Mapping the Valley
Freelance Creative Professional
Writer * Editor * Educator * Weirdo
Lifesaving Poems
Just another WordPress.com site
(poetry and other stuff, but mostly poetry)
Just another WordPress.com site
a roominghouse for the servants of the duende
pea river journal 
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