What will you do now with the gift of your left life?

I have piles of poetry books in the bathroom, on the stairs, everywhere. The only way to write poetry is to read it.

I always wanted a child. Being a mother is the central thing in my life.

I write quite a lot of sonnets, and I think of them almost as prayers: short and memorable, something you can recite.

You have me like a drawing, erased, coloured in, untitled, signed by your tongue.

Time hates love, wants love poor,/but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.

If we think of what's up ahead, with climate change and wars over water, it's very frightening.