(See first "Poetry Month")
I borrowed from my friend Jon a book of poetry by Stephen Dunn, which I have now opened, three short months after the borrowing. (Actually, come to think of it, it was more like he borrowed it to me, in a sort of a transitive way, where I had little choice, fortunately, given that I am so particular about poetry that I forget that it's worth trying new.) I of course loved the first poem I came upon, and wondered before I'd made it to the third line how I had gone so many days without this latest promise of mine to read and write on every one. I could suddenly only barely stand all that I'd let go by without words, starting with, for some reason, this latest and oddest condition in which my right hand is decidedly colder than my left.
So it promises to be an interesting month. If you're near a library, the Stephen Dunn book is called Different Hours, and the poem is called the Last Hours.
2 read, 2 written