On Attending a Poetry Reading by the Poet Laureate of the United States of America at the Library of Congress.
This one is still on the cutting board. But I will share it with you, faithful readers. It was a January day, the heart of winter. Karren arrived early and saved us a place up front. Good seats. It was an unseasonably warm January day, and the room filled quickly, the temperature rising with everyone's excitement to hear the Poet recite her work. A silent spirit entered the room and took a seat in front of us. Was it she? The Poet? And so close I could almost reach out and touch her? "My God," I whispered to Karren, "She is a rock star!" The Poet spoke and read her works: some stirring civil war poems, some Whitman. Euclid alone has nothing on me now. The Sonnet Series Prelude Every decision, it seems, is a trade-off, and each choice, a rejection of all other options. We oversimplify to mask our true feelings. We generalize to avert the difficult question. Our friendship, our love is a complex being, a life all its own with wants and needs that t...