I’ll be reading twice next week,  on Wednesday, March 7, at the Gloucester Writers Center, 126 East Main St., 7:30 pm, with Nancy Esposito and Holly Guran:

 

And on Friday, March 9, I’ll be reading at the historic Loring-Greenough House, 12 South Street,  Jamaica Plain, at 7:30 pm, with Jonathan Aibel and Ben Berman. It’ll be a busy week! I’d be delighted to see you in Gloucester or Jamaica Plain.  

I’m honored to be reading with esteemed translator and poet David Ferry, whose recently published translation of the Aeneid has received rave reviews. I have two more readings in March (see flyer below).

Here’s a poem that I’m proud to have published in J Journal, which is affiliated with the John Jay College of Criminal Justice at CUNY. And here’s a link to the journal’s online section, Writings on Writing, in which I talk about the dual spheres I feel I live in these days, and the challenge of finding the right tone for a poem that raises social justice and environmental issues. If you’d like to read more, click here:

http://jjournal2.jjay.cuny.edu/jjournal/?attachment_id=1025

Probability Theory

 

I’ve been trying to get dressed

in time to take out the recycle bins

but my daughter’s just called

from New York to FaceTime

with my granddaughter

so I’ll definitely let the tins

of cat food sweat it out

with the plastic milk

and humus containers

in their bin on the back porch

just before she called

a climate scientist said on the radio

we have probably 100 years

to prevent total climate catastrophe

and if we had the technology of 100 years ago

with the 7 billion of us alive today

we’d for sure be goners

though if we had the population

of 100 years ago and today’s technology

we’d sail right through

but there’s almost a 50/50 chance

given today’s population

whether today’s technology

can actually save us that’s only

a few generations away

and my granddaughter has no idea

what kind of world she’s been born into

and I don’t want to miss a single glimpse

of her happily stacking and snapping

the interlocking parts of her

Duplo blocks together even though

they’re cheap LEGO® knockoffs

that came in a huge zippered plastic bag

from TJ Maxx by way of China

and there’s probably better than

a 50/50 chance they don’t work

as well as the real thing

 

 

“Drexler’s collection Before There Was Before collects memory, winds it into words and brings its readers back to before and still before where they will continue to recognize themselves in the narratives no matter the century. Whether it is a comment on Victorian jewelry, the death of a mother elephant, a bothersome insect, or the fragility of Earth’s very existence, Drexler’s words ask us to examine these atoms and to treasure them for however long we may have.” To read more:

https://solsticelitmag.org/content/before-there-was-before-by-wendy-drexler/

I’m perched on the edge of the new year, and grateful for the journey.

Happy New Year 2018!

Here’s a poem for the waning days of 2017. “Closing the Loop on the Year” first appeared in The Hudson Review. At this time of year, I buy a new desk calendar, even though I now keep a digital calendar as well, and I transfer with colored markers all the birthdays of family members and friends from last year’s calendar to the new one, adding notes for concerts, doctor’s appointments, poetry readings, the dates taxes are due.

Thanks to everyone who’s visited my website in 2017, and I hope you’ll come back in 2018. Happy New Year to all!

Closing the Loop on the Year

Snow clings to shingles. I riffle December

pages of my calendar—coffee-stained days,

bills paid, to-dos and past dues,

the late tracery of time spent, nearly

forgotten. I peel

the cellophane from the new calendar, turn

the blank pages. I want another year, oh yes.

And another after that. I want

tenacity like the dogwood outside my window,

preparing to stay, bare branches huddled hard

against the side of the house—

the one shoot that races straight up

from the middle of the crown—

brown umbel with its parasol of stalks,

each stalk capped with a pink bud

ready to be struck into white stars,

on whose account, by May,

the whole branch will tremble.

 

With thanks to Doug Holder