james' mother. southern as they come. then, the horrible things she told me (& didn't tell james) made me furious...distraught. with time, & some growth in my compassion bone, i'm glad to have been there & a safe repository for her burdens.
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.
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