POEMS


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« While Napping in Alaska
on a Sunday in October
| Main | »

Winter
Solstice

It was dark and cold
and Grandmother said
let's make a picnic, we'll hang
the beaded sun on the ceiling,
have lunch from a willow basket.
She laid out great-grandmother's quilt,
orange and yellow and blue, a homespun
lawn on the carpet, and I in my nightgown
and she in her lavender dress, ate
tuna and crackers and chocolate
off delicate
china plates.
   

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  • Disclaimer

    Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.

    In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.

    It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.

    A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.


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