Sunrise City by Samantha Meeker

In the spring, we considered buying a flat, but I just couldn't do it. It had no Eastern exposure, and without mornings, I pretty much lose hope.

Irked

I was stuck in a waiting room recently, and had the misfortune of reading a "Women's Day" magazine. The editorial blurb went something like this: "It's summer! Take some time for yourself. Make that fish recipe you've been wanting to try; take up knitting; buy some new closet fixtures." Good God.

So then I started thinking about all the things women's magazines never tell us to do. Here's my top 10 list:

10. It's summer! Time to join the FBI so you can spy on your neighbors without probable cause (Hurry, before the Patriot Act expires!)

9. Nothing to do? Why not illegally download an old Disney movie? (Seriously; those films should be in the public domain already).

8. Tired of the same old same old? Experiment with Lesbian sex (You won't know until you try it).

Okay, that's as far as I've gotten. But I'm going to keep adding to this. Did I mention I'm irked?

Some salt with that

So I was thinking about pretzels, how they're really just a salt delivery system. Pretzels are salt licks for people. And then I started thinking about salt. Salt is huge. I'm thinking of the salt trade in North Africa; the role of salt in the Indian Independence Movement; the scene in The Crucible, where John Proctor tastes his wife's stew and, grimacing, adds a pinch of salt. And then I come across this.

See? Salt is huge.

I am remembering my father.

He died in 1989, on the fourth of July. All of the siblings - all 8 of us - were standing around his hospital bed. And there were fireworks going off outside. We could see them through the window.

I am thinking about my mother.

She's in the hospital. That's her, in the front row; the one with the skate key.

This Time

by Gerald Stern was overdue. I took a quick break and sat in an armchair by a window so I could read just one poem before I dropped it in the return slot. I opened to "The Dancing." I read it once. Again. Again. I took off my sandals. I looked out the window. I was so grateful, I walked off without my shoes.