Tom finished the kitchen tile project yesterday, and it is gorgeous. His eye and his skills are a marvel. I am so lucky to have a partner who knows how to make things. The photo is early-morning dark, but you can see the grout lines and the beautiful glow of the glass.
While Tom was tiling, I ambled into town to get my hair cut. Then I came home and I visited a bit with one of my favorite young people before she and Paul went off on a walk. And then I sat in the breezy backyard and finished my Shelley essay. The focus is on his idiosyncratic use of the sonnet form as a way to contain and shape his fury. It will appear in a couple of weeks in Teresa Carson's poetry newsletter, as part of her series on writing political poetry. If you want to be added to her email list, let me know and I'll pass on your contact info to her. In the meantime, if you're a teacher using this or other political poetry in the classroom, I'd be glad to share it with you.
Yesterday was such a pleasant, easygoing day that it was shock to wake up and discover that over the weekend two of my former students--kids I've known since babyhood--were arrested up north for domestic violence. They were separate incidents; I don't know the details, though I can make some guesses. Tragedy runs deep.