Day 2 in Vermont. Things are up and down here, but probably the weight is tilted to the up side. Still, I feel as if most of my hours are spent in some version of triage: jumping on problems, making stabs at solutions, staying hawk-eyed for danger, texting with my sister 50 times a day. We've acquired a recliner, moved furniture to accommodate a walker; we're managing precipitous blood-sugar drops, the remnants of hospital delirium, and, as problematic as anything else, pipe-dream suggestions such as "let's walk out to the garden" and "time to plant the corn."

At night I wander up and down the mosquito-ridden driveway, whispering to Tom on my phone so I don't wake my parents, wondering how they'll ever manage when I leave.

But a week ago he was in the ICU, and now he is home. Maybe things will improve more rapidly than I can imagine them improving now.

I did manage to steal an hour and half to teach my class last night. I am reading a Tessa Hadley novel and Marvell's poems. I am trying to stay calm and cheerful. But there's no getting around the fact that this ordeal is not close to being over.

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What with all of the uproar in my life, I keep forgetting to mention I have three new poems out in the journal Live Encounters.