Unlike Our Nancy, Pollack was impulsive and died in a car accident.
LIVING ALONE
The echoes of their footsteps
The whispers of their voices
The rain pounding on the roof tonight.
I love living alone.
The sweet hum of the refrigerator
The water heater purring like a cat
The subtle settlement of this yellow house
onto what was once farmland
I love living alone.
ALL'S I WANNA DO IS READ
The library books all come in
at once. They reside in comfort
on the husband's side of the bed.
Jack Hirshman, an old man now,
a Communist and freethinker, writes
poems that are surprisingly sweet
and sensitive.
The book comes all the way from
the Bala Cynwyd Library and often
gets lodged beneath my shoulder.
James Lee Burke has written another
winner: New Iberia Blues. Gruesome,
bloody, disgusting, just what we'd
expect. What a thrill!
The Signature of All Things by
Elizabeth Gilbert is a virtuoso
performance I listen to in the
kitchen, while frying my morning
eggs. When I add onions am I
crying from the fumes of
M. L'Onion, or from what happens
to Alma, in this monstrously
long book.
PHONE IS OFF HOOK. Gonna lie down on red couch and listen to da book.
Wish me luck!!!
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