a small daughter of course since it's a small basin
first you would put one then
the other end in.
Kay Ryan wrote this meditation on a precious ancient bowl. [The one in the picture is upside down to show the design.] Ryan's brief poems, laid out so thoughtfully, have a way of sticking in the mind so that when I see a Ming style bowl -- or maybe the real thing in a museum -- I will think of washing a small girl child in it.
National poetry month is nearly over. A lot of nice poems have come my way this month, and I've tried to spread some around. I read recently a lament, by a poet, that no one buys poetry books except poets -- I think that's mostly true. But of the many things people profess they love, lovers of poetry seem especially passionate. Although I think the writer must not know many of that male species called the sports addict. I think poetry loves cannot be compared to sports addicts, only contrasted.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!