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Tuesday, March 27, 2007. Year at least one person. Us, we scrambled through. On our backs to form. Hills that put cut glass. The way of the world-. That we took for granted. I was not an only child, but. Lonely as a child of ice. This was the only world I knew. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie.

Saturday, March 24, 2007. It is Sunday, after the family Sunday dinner. Sweet with the smells, of Sunday. There is the fireplace, wood burning; there is the staircase, warming as it rises. I am sitting halfway up the staircase, facing out; my hands loosely encircle the smooth swelling bars of railing. I am bathed in the swelling comfort of rising air. And what is the matter with Joanie? Why does she always sit by herself? I do not unde.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007. I was thin as a waif,. Just two and a half,. The word, watermelon, saw. I could think of in English,. For the children to come,. This poem appeared in the anthology, PATCHWORK OF DREAMS, 1966.