I would send you a photo, but you should really see for yourself. She is not just a sight but also a place--one where you can go, a whole atmosphere of pink and white; a city of barnicled branch; monument of fullness and fragility. So much of her is already gone, on the grass, a mosaic of oxidizing petals--and yet she is missing nothing, a vision of abundance and generosity. Her blooms are more outstretched this year than I've ever seen; her canopy, so vast that when we go f

I am looking for a hopeless woman. Not the kind you're thinking of, drinking alone at the dive bar, dissolving into dramas on the mid-day screen. No–I want a woman who has given up those distractions, who has surrendered the search for escape, betterment, or balm. I am looking for a hopeless woman. A woman who, in the morning, before her coffee, steps outside with her aging dog, and sits where it is damp. A woman who watches for what the hawk will do and helps a worm find the

A friend I haven't seen in a while comes over for cake. I've made carrot with cream cheese, lemon with glaze. I want to be a woman who's done something, who's made something with the time she has. I listen while my friends talks. My eyes track the waning slices on the faded red plate, shaped like a crescent moon, or a mouth. Inside of a pause, I ask if she'd like to go outside. It is early January, cold and bright. The pool feels to your limbs like the river where boys swim,