Dear Reader,
I am happy to report that a decent draft of “Let Flowers Fall,” that larger Behn poem, now exists. There’s one stanza I’m still working on, and another I stripped for parts, but it’s almost there. It’s not as important as it thought it was, but it’s mostly solid and it makes Word Raccoon hum.
Word Raccoon has been busy arranging books and making dinner plans, leaving me long stretches of quiet this afternoon. Poetry likes quiet.
I was inexplicably sad when I sliced a homemade cherry strudel today. One we bought. It was delicious, so that wasn’t the issue. I guess it’s that I’d imagined this season of my life differently – I thought I’d be doing more baking. That I’d be taking over more bread and quiches to the neighbors than I do.
Poetry is not to everyone’s taste. Then again, cherry strudel isn’t, either, I suppose.
Poems are nourishment, too, though, right?
I hope so.
WR has just returned from petting our tomato plant and she says poems taste just as good as cherry strudel.
Well, okay then.
Drema