Tuesday, June 30, 2009

As the jt-lg recedes, so do its letters....
In that odd space where I haven't quite
settled in to where I am. Restless.
Can't set myself down to read. Messed around
a bit with a new set of pastels, took out some
of my rice paper, my leaf-and-petal-shot papers.
And put them all away again.

Now Paul and I play "Name That Poet"
and read aloud to each other, first William Stafford
then Stevie Smith: The River God.
I am not good at this game.
I am under-read, over-fed, not quite dead.
--she said.


Dropped a triangular piece of Connemara marble
on my foot in an attempt to retrieve my copy
of Irish Traditional Cooking, By Darina Allen.
Mostly I spilled my unoaked South African
Chardonnay, in a crystal glass, and howled.
Paul ran for ice, refilled my wine, offered Aleve.
No. That's not right. I refilled my own wine,
in a second glass. And then Paul opened
a bottle of French red, and we ate leftover
chicken rice soup, and listened to Ronnie Drew.
We had it all, we had the best of times....


  1. How's your foot now? I hope you will able to walk, rather than hobble, for the rest of your time in Ireland.

    At least you have wine.

    And Paul and Poetry.

    Love, C.

  2. Ouch. Sorry about the foot. Wine and poetry are sure to help.

  3. Other than a purple little toe, all is well! We may even attempt a short hike today.

    Wine/Paul/poetry: cure-alls!

  4. It really sounds like you two know how to have a GOODE time. Love following your days in Ireland. Hope the toe feels better.

  5. Pam, you are CLEARly right!