Necromancy Never Pays

This past weekend we brought a cut tree into our living room, put multicolored lights on it, and hung ornaments from it, a process always re...

This past Sunday, convalescing after the flu, I sat in a patch of weak November sunlight coming in through the picture window that has a spo...

I came back from France thinking that Wallace Stevens, lover of things French and Floridian, might have a poem that would provide a good ope...

Kim has been presenting poems by Billy Collins (master of the "readable" school of poetry) this month. And although I love his p...

Wallace Stevens' poem Depression Before Spring is about weather and the weariness of waiting: The cock crows But no queen rises. The hai...

Did you notice that this entire blog turned blue with cold last week? After getting stuck trying to fly home from the east coast on Sunday, ...

This really happened (as Cody used to say every time he told a story about his childhood, in Anne Tyler's Dinner at the Homesick Restaur...

"I'm afraid of worms, Roxanne." ("Words!") The builder was asking me about which parts of the door to our new bathr...

I am a person who parts with empty cardboard boxes with great reluctance. I still have some of my maternity clothes, plus a bag of baby clo...

It is snowing here today. When it snows, I always murmur Wallace Stevens to myself, the end of 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird: It was ev...