Wherever we’re going
is Monday morning
Wherever we’re coming from
is Mother’s lap.
Maxine Kumin, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, has died at 88. I loved her work, especially this poem. You can hear her read it below, or at the Poetry Foundation.
Next shelf down
Our Winter Poet
Writing about Reading, and Why I Can’t Always (and Yet Always Want To)
Three Things Bookish
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Cybils Reading Challenge Update