I’ve logged more experience than most with simplicity and the complexity you discover inside simplicity, minimalism and asocial behavior, endurance and landscape.
Here is the truth: I think some deep wisdom inside me (a) sensed the stress, (b) was terrified for me, and (c) gave me something new and hard to focus on in order to prevent me from lapsing into a despair coma — and also to keep me from having a jelly jar of wine in my hand.
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Sarah Pemberton Strong’s most recent novel is The Fainting Room. She lives in Hamden, Connecticut, where she is a self-employed master plumber and a poetry editor at New Haven Review. She says that when her mother, who was a carpenter for many years, read her poem in this issue, she said, “I’m sorry about the breakfasts, but at least I taught you how to use tools.”
A full moon is rising peach-colored the night of the five-hundred-year anniversary of Columbus’s landing in the New World. Six months ago I planned for this to be the day I’d finish my novel.