It Might Be A Bad Thing, Not

Poems Come From Ordinary Experiences And Objects, I Think. Out Of Memory - A Dress I Lent My Daughter On Her Way Back To College; A Newspaper Photograph Of War; A Breast Self-exam; The Tooth Fairy; Calvinist Parents Who Beat Up Their Children; A Gesture Of Love; Seeing Oneself Naked Over Age 50 In A Set Of Bright Hotel Bathroom Mirrors.

The Older I Get, The More I See The Power Of That Young Woman, My Mother.

Take Your Vitamins. Exercise. Just Work To Love Yourself As Much As You Can - Not More Than The People Around You But Not So Much Less.

This Creature Of The Poem May Assemble Itself Into A Being With Its Own Centrifugal Force.

I Have Learned To Get Pleasure From Speaking Of Pain