“despite not being real
Them and them

the conspirators
and the voices

but more the voices
which I waited for”

“A writing contest is a lottery for dreamers. It only stands to reason that some cynical practices flourish there.”

Instead, I presented: One large mason jar (32oz) filled with ashes—the remains of my “Morning Pages.” The lid was screwed on tightly, a white label featuring my best penmanship: “RIP Father Figures.”

“In that moment, he looked just like a boy to Irma. Head tilted down, palm turned out and facing her. She wanted to scoop his head between her hands.”

“She’d thought she could drive so fast in that sleek yellow car that she’d outstrip everything else, make the world a blur. But the world was still there, steam rising from the long sleek hood, the car stopped dead forever.”

I want to convey to my students that what poetry does above all, and Roethke above others, is help us see the world, not outside of ourselves as much as in our hearts, and in our own thoughts and words and expressions.

“Who but a maniac or a goddamn fool would sit down and write a novel attacking marriage? And who’d want to read such a novel?” For Richard Yates, author of Revolutionary Road, these questions were rhetorical.