Not a postcard, or a tease of lace. In my absence I send a strange messenger, my love but true – I send a spoon. Its haft slips into your hand gladly, like mine, returns the faint warmth of fingers and thumb helpful as a wife. The curve of its bowl against your lips – …
Notes for a poem in progress
Since I started teaching at Polytech (sounds so official, doesn't it?), I've had to re-immerse myself in the hundreds of writing exercises that I've collected. Which has been good – I'm finally starting to write again, even if only quite minor poems. At least I'm writing. And it feels good! So, so good. One thing I …
