Whopee! I got a whole new format. The background, which you may be able to see, faintly, if the page is loading right, is the opening page of a book about 17th century nun and poet, Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz. She was an extraordinary writer and renown wit, until the patriarchy shut her down. Bad patriarchs, bad. There's a very good film made about her life, from the 50's or 60's I believe. Cruz is supposed to have scribbled on this very page.

For Laur, After College

You are not mostly in my dreams.

For a while, yes, for years,
I sat on your bed counting the crooked places
in the pine branches outside the window
while you talked in a room
on the other side of your old house
(carpets worn beyond grey,
money taped under the drawers)

Your mother's smile made me wince.
She was washing the aluminum foil--
again and again -- so German --
hanging it outside on a line to dry.

So now
I dream about darker, more fragrant houses
or a beach
with pink waves that knock me, again and again,
into the warm sand. Horses everywhere, rolling and
shivering in the surf.
When I wake, there's someone
there and he washes my dishes,
feeds my cats.

Look out the window.

There's bright flashing, almost Morse.
It's me saying it's safe. I'm over you.

It's time for you to call.

I am nearly speechless (which never happens). Small Spiral Notebook published a rave review of my poetry book. I must celebrate, get a pedicure or something.