The way your hand fell into mine | 6 July 2006


Sea, thoughts of
the long windows that
opened out to it — there
the way your hand fell
into mine, the sand
and the broken
glass, blues and greens


I carry the weight of you | 5 November 2006

Months. This journal has been in Milwaukee since Josie’s wedding — and sleeping next to Mike makes me write in this less.

Nothing new. School, teaching, trying to write poems. How I want to. Eleanor Wilner is in town. I’ve spent the past two days driving her around. Poet’s notice things. They tell you what they see. Describe in interesting ways — “the birds are doing their sunset swirl.” I dream of being like them. If only …


I carry the weight of you — writing about you might get me no where.

To leave the beloved behind…

The mysteriousness of language | 5 December 2006

Reading Montale then Ann Marie Macari, I think I’m starting to get it — poetry. The mysteriousness of language, why form may be good for me. Writing to the you not the reader about the you (Montale) and Macari’s surprises within short poems.

How to do this? Keep reading more. Write without thinking. What I keep striving for — approval?

Continue reading

I want to remember | 29 January 2007

Writing goals for spring semester — I promised I would write in here more, daily. Inspiration for poems.


I want to remember the dog hurling toward us, ahead of a truck, the Oh-God feeling that he was coming to attack us, that he was twice the size of you, and I’d witness yet another dog fight. But then I realized, its owner was following in a pick-up truck. This bizarre way to “walk” one’s dog, and the relief felt when it hit us, and just kept running.


Life with Mike is good. We cook together, take walks, share each other’s separate lives. I still don’t feel married in some ways. Life is simple and easy with him. We don’t fight.

There is a world between the trees | 1 February 2007

There is a world between the trees, scattered along the boulevard. Wanting it to be as real as the stop sign on the corner, wanting a hand to hold onto the handlebars. This is when the neighbors laughed. Body of gold. When the time came for the dogs to be let out, they were let out. Someone jumped in bed with someone else. The tulips turned yellow.