Relativity

Did I say "job security" in my last post? Well, I was wrong. With the state shutdown looming, my very expendable intern status may prove detrimental. There is no certainty for any of my co-workers paid by state grants. Layoffs could be just temporary, or they could be permanent (and then people would have to go through a re-hiring process). The grant that was supposed to be paying for all of our job extensions may or may not have gone through all of the processes to make it "official" yet, in which case I could be one of many to lose my job. Sad.

Despite this unfortunate situation, I am feeling pretty good. I took time yesterday to work on my scrapbook of poems and other collected treasures. The thirty minutes that I spent working on it filled me with enthusiasm and energy that is still with me today. I just bought a William Carlos Williams collection -- Pictures from Brueghel and other Poems -- and "Suzy" may be the next addition to my poetry book. Also, I've been listening to a lot of music lately, which has felt great. The Rolling Stones, Danger Mouse's "Rome," Ray Charles, David Bowie, Atmosphere.

Life is somehow as busy as ever (or so it feels), and a cousin's wedding will this weekend provide SB his first opportunity to meet my Dad's family. It will be interesting, as I have hardly seen any of them for years. I'm sure that everyone will look so grown up, perhaps including myself! It will be fun, although I'm eager for a quiet weekend; amazing how quickly these summer weekends fill with activities! I'd also like to get a small camping trip in with SB this summer and have a feeling that if I don't plan it soon, it'll never happen!  

Lastly, after finishing a recent batch, I have decided that I am a pita bread master. I'll never buy it again!

Suzy

I

women your age have decided

wars and the beat

of poems your grandfather

is a poet and loves you

pay attention

to your lessons an inkling

of what beauty means to

a girl your age

may dawn soon upon you

II

life is a flower when it

opens you will

look trembling into it unsure

of what the traditional

mirror may reveal

between hope an despair while

a timorous old man

doubtfully half

turns away his foolish head

III

a bunch of violets clutched

in your idle

hand gives him a place

beside you which he cherishes

his back turned

from you casually appearing

not to look he yearns after

you protectively

hopelessly wanting nothing