9:35 - Carole Maso's Ghost Dance. A book with weight and texture. Novel or prose poem? This was difficult to read, for various reasons. Shaded with grief. Unfolding into layers and levels. At times I wanted to put it down, to walk away. It was worth staying with. I am overly sentimental, so remember that when I say this story made me cry. Oddly enough, it is the mother, Christine Wing, whom I think I will remember, not the narrator. I do not know if this is what the author intended.
2:15 - For the first time in perhaps a year, perhaps longer, all my mail boxes are empty. There are no letters waiting to be answered. The guilt is gone, gone I tell you!
There is, of course, more work to be done...but this is an accomplishment, no matter that it will likely not last more than ten minutes. I shall revel in it.
10:00. A poem dragged me from my bed. They didn't warn me about this when I applied to be a writer.
Do you know that some days
you rush through me,
the letters of your name
tumbling and flowing,
sunlight on the river,
appearing, disappearing, dancing.
A whisper in the back of my throat;
a lazy, warm caress.
Some days, you are not far away