met her on the tole mour. sailing was her escape from a family where she took care of everyone, & no one took care of her. she doesn't sail or make poems anymore. she married at 19. i cried all the way home.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.
1 comment:
All the way home from the boat or all the way home from the wedding? (I'm thinkin' the latter.)
Post a Comment