poetry
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Rebecca - - No responsesEnd of summer, San Diego, August 2015 There's a poem in my head and I don't know how to write it. Riding my bike home, I hear the bing-bing of two metal things hitting. I decide to not stop. The sound is rather pleasant. A man is installing a rain gutter in hopes of El Niño. A woman in white pants trims something in her garden, as I pass a large van with a bumper sticker on the back window that reads WITCH. Two old cars rot under a plexiglass carport. Across the ... more -
Rebecca - - No responsesLego creation, April 2015 What on earth have I been up to? Oh, yeah, that writing a book raising a family doing work in the world cooking cleaning laundry juggling act called life. I have a lot I could say. Sometimes having a lot to say equals not saying anything. Circuits get overfull, or something like that. And so, a poem for you. "Advice to Myself" by Louise Erdrich, via The Writer's Almanac Leave the dishes. Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor. Leave the black ... more -
Rebecca - - No responsesMischievous look expert, February 2013 As I contemplate having reached the one-year mark after Elan's tonsillectomy to treat sleep apnea, I am frequently struck by the ridiculous nonsensicalness of sleep in my house. I just finished an essay about it, my first non-blog humor piece, sparked by an idea I got - when else? - in the middle of the night. Elan and I have been reading Shel Silverstein before bed lately, which I love because I get to witness his delight and remember my own in these same poems. ... more
