That day is always with me, how he stood on tip-toe in his stretchy terrycloth one piece outfit, the kind with nonskid footies, how his head tipped back as he pulled up as close as he could to the kitchen table, how he reached impossibly far for that cup of steeping tea, how I ...
. . . Looking back, I find it miraculous that during hectic and worrying years I managed to 'retreat' sometimes into my imagination, and come up with poems that may last better than I thought they would. In many ways, the inner peace that Paul is inviting us to cultivate, in emulation...