But I’m too old to be written about as a young poet.
Category Archive: 1928
Divorce was miserable, as it always is, and we divorce for the same reasons we marry.
My grandmother took me to church on Sunday all day long, every Sunday into the night. Then Monday evening was the missionary meeting. Tuesday evening was usher board meeting. Wednesday evening was prayer meeting. Thursday evening was visit the sick. Friday evening was choir practice. I mean, and at all those gatherings, we sang.
Acting is just common sense. It isn’t hard if you put yourself aside and just do what the writer wrote.
Ugliness is in a way superior to beauty because it lasts.
I’m convinced of this: Good done anywhere is good done everywhere. For a change, start by speaking to people rather than walking by them like they’re stones that don’t matter. As long as you’re breathing, it’s never too late to do some good.
Now I think poetry will save nothing from oblivion, but I keep writing about the ordinary because for me it’s the home of the extraordinary, the only home.
There are books all around me… I don’t read as much as I used to, but I always have a book or two going.
Every December, I host a tree-trimming party. I serve chili with cornbread and lots of good wine. It’s a wonderful party, and it shows how much adults like to play.
At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place, was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice.