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I love the first daffodils. In our front garden, they’re multiplying like spring rabbits — pheasant’s eye, narcissus, tiny jonquils, large trumpeted King Alfred, double Winston Churchill, and many more. They bloom between the canes of last summer’s Joe Pye Weed, and beneath the roots of my grandmother’s hardy hibiscus. They’re just so cheerful! And…

It feels like my world is losing important pieces, lately. A death here, a death there, a third one just behind them. A lot of friends, colleagues, and the family of both have taken wing. Elsewhere. Wherever the dead go. This time, it was the dear man who, in many ways, made me believe I…

My friendship with my dear friend M is the product of technology, for which I’m very grateful. M started a book group several years ago, and we all talked books online. I’d met only one of the group f2f, as my students would say. And she wasn’t M. M, whose background is Russian, insisted we…

Poetry — the breath of love, life, grief, terror, justice. And more… We woo with it, grieve with it, celebrate and commemorate and just plain live with it. All around the world today, poets and readers and appreciators are joining together in praise of the mystery of poetry. In other countries, poets have the fame…
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