And so this is winter break

and what will I do? Well, it means that now I finally have time to do the things I need to do that are not school-related. And then I'll have time to think of the things I'd like to do just in time to start the spring term. So it goes. One more semester of classes, and then I never have to take another class in my life. Though I'm certain I will. Learning languages? Nihil est melius. Well, maybe one thing.

Then sometimes you send an email to someone, and they send your email right back, all broken up into the poem you sent them. Or the poem they saw in what you'd said. So here's that:

December

was here...

*****

Reading this poem that my friend whittled down for me, I'm reminded of my mother's sister, who died very young from breast cancer. I was twelve when she was undergoing chemotherapy, initially--losing her hair and her breast, just as I was starting to get mine. Years ago I wrote this poem for her. Thinking back to that time now (the poem is mostly true), when I stood there, holding in my hands, like the scales (or librae), her gel breast and her wig, well, I still can't really describe the moment's intimacy & terror, gift & loss.

So, before I get all weepy, I'll sign off. But first, a huge thanks to the editors at Drunken Boat, The Journal, and Seneca Review for selecting some of my work for their upcoming issues. Looking forward to seeing them.

*****