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My Life in Books

My Life in Books

Laura Ingalls Wilder was the first writer I ever befriended. At night, our beautiful, young mothers tucked us both into bed, side by side with our older sisters. As I listened to my mother read Little House in the Big Woods, Laura would listen to her pa on his fiddle....

Four Weeks In: Redux

I wrote this poem five years ago and reworked it recently. Now, of course, we all know that four weeks is nothing. It’s not even half the time we’ve been social distancing. So take this poem with a grain of salt. I didn’t know any better. Four weeks inIf only I had...

Grammar Lesson

She sits at the kitchen tabledutifully diagramming sentences inscrutable indirect objects and those pesky prepositions(or are they adverbs?) But I am diagrammingthe way the light glints in her hairas she carefully shapes cursive,brow furrowedbut eyes darting to...