Sunday, July 9, 2017
Outside on the prom, a mockingbird is singing and singing. A low mist hangs over the dew-sodden grass. I am thinking about backyard compost contraptions and teeny-tiny gardens and the singing in the local A.M.E. church. I am thinking about how to get the smell of five cats out of a house. I am thinking about Baldwin's Giovanni's Room and imagining what it would be like to teach a 10-week class on the essay and wondering why the Red Sox never give Rick Porcello any run support. I am thinking that I should buy another brand of coffee. I am remembering the king salmon and mashed potatoes we had for dinner last night and the late-afternoon flash flood swirling into the storm drain in front of the apartment house. I am missing my friends at the Frost Place and those sweet writing-seminar teenagers in their sopping-wet kayaks and my own dear boys forging through the city and the wild. I am sending comical-sentimental salutations to the man asleep in my bed. I am thinking about band practice and fresh tomatoes and the sunburn on my left shoulder. I am wondering if my deck-garden pansies will keep blooming until the nasturtiums are big enough to take over. I am thinking about three new poem drafts and the book I need to finish editing and the blurb I need to write for a friend's poetry collection and the thoughtful comments I need to make on another friend's draft and the reflection paper I need to read for a Frost Place grad student and the mortgage talk I need to have at the bank tomorrow and the fact that I may never get back to the three drafts that started this sentence. I am thinking about sunshine and rain and fresh strawberries and the giant ugly bug I found in the bathtub. I am thinking about you, wondering if you've made it to the end of this litany and, if so, where you would recommend edits.