sunday

the woman at the chinese grocery store who always asks me how to bake things, who once said with a tongue full of tenderness and sympathy "ooh i love editing!", told little one not let her ten lb bag of flour get wet in the rain or she would turn to glue, who i thought might be crazy... she lost her glasses and now she looks down squinting ringing through the groceries and she doesn't smile or ask how to make rolls anymore, and she can't afford to buy new glasses because she makes minimum wage at a grocery store. for some reason this really gets to me.

i made potato leek soup with tarragon.

dug eighteen deep holes for my dahlias this afternoon ripped apart the bulbs with my fingers. eighteen or more in the back row of my plot just the size of a grave. planted lily of the valley too. a rustling noise then a mother duck arrives on the scene, gnuack gnuack, then fourteen little ducklings barely days old follow her across the yard and through the fence over tree stumps.

napped in the middle of the day in the middle of the house with the sun streaming in on the lumb of a cat on the floor.

going to the jbi poetry slam...