How does Zucker convey such emotion while deploying such sparse, well, emotion? In portraying the flatness of love (habitual) and life (deflated), how does she gut us like she does?
Look on the bright side, I still have my sense of humor. The bad news for the sun-will-come-out-tomorrow crowd is that it’s a dry, mostly dark and humorless humor; I’m a Yankee through and through.
A friend calls this “writing weather.” I guess that’s one way to get through dark, cold, snowy winter. Willie Nelson helps. Mimosas, too.
RANDOM THOUGHTS FOR JANUARY 2021 (a pandemic diary entry for Month 11 of The Social Distancing)
They say now bandanas and neck gaiters are not good enough. And an infectious disease expert tells CNN we may be wearing masks for a few more years. Asked about forever, he does not say no.
I’m forever in awe of poetry’s ability to tap into what paces beneath the surface, anxious to be seen. Maybe it was the stuffed-down stress of the morning, but the weeping felt like a true connection. At the heart of the poem is the idea that we don’t or can’t always appreciate — or even recognize — love when it’s given to us.
For a poet, I think I’m late to the nesting and writing stages of coronavirus grief. But thanks to a cat, perimenopause and Natalie Goldberg, I’m here now.