I order tomato seeds from Italy. I write a poem to my daughter’s friend. I meander through downtown gardens with my husband and youngest, popping in for a London Fog from a boutique hotel a few blocks away. While waiting for the barista, I people-watch, pretending I am just another tourist in a lobby full| Design For Mankind
A poem for the woman in the co-op fumbling for an avocado, and for the right words. Stage 4, she says into the phone. “Now is the time to know That all that you do is sacred. Now, why not consider A lasting truce with yourself and God. Now is the time to understand| Design For Mankind
The weather turned quickly after unseasonable warmth, and last year’s burgeoning woodpile beckoned an early burn. So we burned. Morning fires on repeat, three times over, until the wax preserve drips clean from a child’s leaf garland. A wonderful mess, scraping beeswax from brick. We resign to flameless candles until leaves are swapped for winter| Design For Mankind
