I've got a piece out in the just-released edition of the Beltway Poetry Quarterly--my long poem "Rules for the Direction of the Maid," which reworks Descartes's "Rules for the Direction of the Mind" into a sardonic treatise about class and adultery. I will be the first to say that this is a very odd poem, and not much like most of what I write, but I'm kind of fond of it nonetheless. And I'm really grateful to the Beltway editors for inviting me to contribute.
All night a gentle rain fell, and now, under the early cloud shadows, the neighborhood throbs with soft-focus color--fluffy greens and pinks and lavenders--and the trees are spangled with vegetable ruffles and ribbons, all gussied up in high Victorian style.
Paul spent yesterday joyfully planning his summer--working out an itinerary for his three-week road trip into the West with his brother, coaxing me into taking a trip with him to NYC midsummer to help him rent an apartment. I can't tell you how good it feels to see him revved up and happy, after this long dead year.
He baked a honey cake while I edited, and then we rode bikes in the afternoon, bumbling slowly through the streets of someone else's neighborhood, where I managed to chug up all of the hills without stopping, so I was quite proud. And then Tom came home, and then I had a zoom visit with Meg, and then we reconvened and hung out in the kitchen and listened to the Red Sox actually beat the Mets' pitching ace, Jacob DeGrom, who's ridiculously good--a Hall-of-Famer for sure.
So it was a good day, despite some extended-family frets, despite my slow editing progress, despite my lack of writing time, despite how gray my hair is getting.
Today, in addition to regular stuff, I need (I think) to prep for a reading, which I'm giving this evening for the Connecticut chapter of the National Council of Teachers of English. I think it's open just to conference participants, but I may be wrong; if so, I'll leave a link here later in the day, in case you're interested. I think I'll be reading with the fine poet and teacher Terry Blackhawk. But as you can see from the number of "I thinks" I haven't gotten much info as of yet. . . .
Update: Poetry reading is apparently open to all: 7-8 p.m. I'll be appearing alongside the wonderful Terry Blackhawk. Send me a message via the comment function in the sidebar if you'd like the zoom link--