Sunday, November 6, 2011
As I sit here at home, recovering from the flurry of last night's benefit turkey dinner and girding my loins to deal with half a leftover turkey, a batch of bread, and a washing machine full of dirty dish towels, I must say that one of the sweetest things that has ever happened to me in this small town, where I will always and forever be "from away," was listening to the citizens try to outbid each other for the pleasure of bringing home one of my pies. The people of Harmony could care less about my poems, but pie is a different story. And that's okay. Sometimes pie is better than poetry. It's good for poetry to remember that.