Is this the road to freedom? Whose freedom? After a poetry reading in Baton Rouge, I drove back to Missouri by way of East Louisiana State Hospital. Many weekends, Daddy and I drove there to visit my mother. I hoped this trip would help me remember details. I can’t ask Daddy. He just says the place was torture. Sometimes he cries.

My life has been a wonder of surprise and intention. Not so unusual, right? We all experience unexpected events and make decisions. But wonder is hard to remember and easy to lose. I’m lucky—poetry requires wonder. I think my Poet Sisters would agree.

School picture day is a big deal when you’re in third grade. At least it was for me. I wore my favorite dress—polyester with short sleeves, a square neckline and an empire waist.

For the last several years—even during 2020, the year time and community left us—I’ve met once a week with other writers. All genres, all ages, all women.

The lighting was strong and steady, but my heart was in my throat. It was closing time at the Glore Psychiatric Museum and I wanted to see one more thing.

When R and I decided to get married, he wanted a date that was easy to remember and I wanted a spring wedding. April was out because both my mom and R had birthdays then, plus we didn’t want to get hitched on Easter, Passover, or Earth Day (usually a gig day for him). But May 1 fit the bill.

A year in I decided to trade my vintage student desk with the hinged wooden top for a corner desk from a thrift store. Finally, room for more than a laptop, a coffee cup, and a lamp. Like Barbie’s head.