These commonplace categories - wife, mother, housewife, teacher - are in fact teleological referents. They gesture to profound states of being that animate, absorb and saturate the subject, like indelible dyes spilled repeatedly over a plain fabric. No matter if the fabric is sturdy or delicate, translucent or opaque, those dyes will stain. They will color the days and years and life.

[Cancer] didn't make me more intense about not working more and just having fun more. It didn't do that either. 

It is true that my characters have sex.

Breath and brevity are sisters; the long-winded is an enemy who muffles your heartbeat.

At a certain point, the struggles with teaching and mothering and so on and so forth, those decline, those lessen.

In recent poems, I have abandoned the theme of not being able to write for an even more obsessive subject, the nature of language, particularly English, in the formation of my imagination and being.

In the poem "C," the crows are associated with cancer, because I had suffered a cancer scare.