What more can I ask from a Friday afternoon than this: the weather breaks, sun arriving after days of gray. I take my freshly painted fingernails to Koriente, where Jay begs me not to blog about the restaurant. He’s too busy already! On the back deck I open L’s manuscript, these short poems shot through with storms and wind, with fathers and daughters, with grackles and butterflies, with pink shirts and rabbit ears. I make notes in pencil. I flip forward and back again. At the table next to me, they talk about seeing Elijah Wood at the coffee house. I’ve come to understand that the world is often a harsh place. We must love these bits of sweetness.

February 6, 2015