The Cold War

This winter feels protective. The cold keeps me tucked away. The snow insulates what looks dead, and spreads clean, consistent color where there were organic browns, pale midwestern house paints, and silver cars smudged with road muck.

Ghosts

Because I recently watched the terrible film “Sylvia,” I took more notice of the death of Plath’s son. I have maintained a dismissive distaste for Plath since college. A privileged, connected, lovely, talented poet, who had a dizzying romance with another successful poet and two sweet children. How sad for her. I did sit through the movie, since I love […]