Easy Doesn't Do It: The Madness of My Poetic Method

Okay, sure. I asked my husband to read one of my poems (a task I have learned, through the years, to but rarely impose on the visual artist to whom I'm married) and he said, in a quick green-tinted e-mail: "sounds nice and I have no idea what it means." I asked another friend; he said, "I tried to understand; I couldn't." I asked my son if he might read the poem I'd blogged for him today. He said, "Tomorrow, Mom, I will read it more closely. Today what I can tell is this: You are happy th