It's Monday, and it's 45 degrees in Portland, Maine, and there's a skunk living under my shed. I dreamed that I met a professor of heckling and watched people fly dachshunds like kites and found a body lying in a snowy road. I woke up to learn that my poem "Now That I'm Old" is out today on Vox Populi and that the Ukrainians are still the bravest people on earth.
Yesterday I did a brief amount of raking in my front yard, which is when I learned about my skunk problem, but mostly I cleaned house and baked bread and such. Today I'll be back to desk work, and staring out the windows watching the snow dissolve in the garden beds, and pondering skunk options. I am really not excited about this.
Anyway, there's a new poem out! And I'm in the editing home stretch. And tulip and hyacinth shoots are poking through in my front beds.
2 comments:
Your poem immediately brought to mind my grandmother, who at my age was nicely soft and wore cotton and used blue rinse in her short permed hair. No expectations of tight abs or spandex (or eternal youth) for her : )
I like the poem, as well, for its ironic lack of vanity, its clear-eyed evaluation of the aging body.
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