poetry tea

Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must take care of what has been given. Brush her hair, help her into her little coat, hold her hand, especially when…

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep. People are going…

Red apples hang frozen in a stick-dry, snow-dusty network of branches, against lamb’s wool and pastelblue of sky, a crooked woodenness, a wizzening red. – Margaret Avison, Sunblue (23, 1-5)

A few years ago, I called to speak with my aunt in the hospital. She was ill and knew she was dying. I was living in Manhattan at the time…