Hi sweeties!

I'm pretending this page is a blog. How did your Monday morning meeting go? I slept through mine. But I kept the radio off in the car on the way to work this morning and came up with my five daily divine tasks to do. Done 2 and changed 1 and did the new version. 2 more to go before bed.

Stayed up last night till 3:00 in the morning (NOT my new bedtime, I promise) proofreading/editing sweet projects for friends---the creative work of a faraway friend, and the completely inspirational application materials of a young friend who's applying to the nontraditional student program at my (& Cheryl's) alma mater. (Plug for her website: www.girl-mom.com). Felt filled with love and so happy to be sharing some of the energy with them that you all shared with me over the deeply magical weekend.

Also stayed up working on the poem I needed to submit for a poetry project at the Blanton. Thank you, Samiya, for taking the time to sit with me before we went home yesterday. Your clear eye helped me so much. Here's the final version (by which I mean, the one I sent!) and the piece that it's in conversation with:

Timepiece

After Isabel del Río’s ‘2244 Módulos’

On the Electrodynamics
of Moving Bodies, 1905.
Einstein drops the news:
The only now is here
and now. Forget the man
in the floating booth
setting the absolute clock. Time
is a kind of relationship to place,
its only instruments
our earthly bodies.

Build me a clock I can feel.
Every minute is history.
What arrogance to imagine
we can carry time with us weightless,
or weighing only grams or ounces,
easy to slip from a pocket,
grasp with a turn of the wrist.
Dress it up, wear it casually.
A decorative object, accessory
laid to rest in a drawer.

I want an archeology of the living.
Give me a calendar that can record
without reducing. No sheet of paper
pressed thin and dry from the pulp
and pulse of trees, uprooted.

Stay with me in the dark soil.
Show me burden and accomplishment,
the ruined city of my days,
the stuttering promise of more
of more to come,
clay in the creator’s hands,
material of the incipient world.