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bay state of mind
“Massachusetts Avenue!” I yell walking with her down Westwood. “I always seem to find the Massachusetts Avenue in every city. Somehow.” We continue walking, past Bristol Farms and she asks, “Is that it right there? Should we cross?” “No,” I say, “it’s past the FedEx, on the next block up there. See it? Paris Bakery?”…
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procrastinating
the reasons not to write a poem are many. you only have 20 minutes and you know you need more than that to get into a FLOW. you know that poetry isn’t made with sips but gulps. you know poems are like the birds and they’re not singing. you know that poems can’t be squeezed…
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riding down SMB
on our bikes, my memories are of looking back at you to make sure you’re OK. in your big helmet that makes you look like a martian or an amateur skateboarder. over my shoulder, you’re there, pedaling along on that hand-me-down bike from your ex-husband’s friend’s wife. ALL OF YOUR PELOTON TRAINING HAS BEEN FOR…