I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of an On Route halfway between Windsor and London, eating a cup of Greek yogurt with a plastic knife. It did occur to me, as I scrambled to leave home in time to get to my 12:40 appointment, that I’d need something to eat. It did not occur to me that woman does not live on PB&J alone. Continue reading
How many times have I read Jane Eyre? It seems like dozens, given the depth of ardor I feel when the novel comes up in conversation. “It’s just perfect,” a favourite student said a few weeks ago, and I agreed immediately and without reservation. But, later, remembering the conversation, I found I barely recalled the plot; Continue reading
I am trying to write a poem. I’m sure that’s terribly surprising.
I spent the last two weeks working on an essay, a memoir piece that attempts to juggle three different narratives until they cohere, each discrete section emerging as part of a whole. It was a difficult piece to write. Continue reading
Not many who know me as a person who writes poems know that I spend an equal amount of my energy attempting to be a bicycle racer. Different kind of energy, yes, but an expenditure that requires as much, probably more, time and an equal amount intense focus. I remember a grad-school classmate asking me once which one I’d choose–poetry or cycling–if I had to give one up. Continue reading