In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

• 15 my mother is a Poem i will never write He couldn’t wait to meet my mother. He kept saying you’ll never know who your woman is until you meet her mother. He said it so often he angered me, he, a safe orphan, with his mother self-drowned But I think he must see me as she is walking in this light down from her home to meet us, an orphan herself, but as clear as anything on this Oregon coast. Even I can feel myself as she comes, carried in that wide house between her hips. My mother is a poem I’ll never be able to write though everything I write is a poem to my mother of whom he later said as we were leaving And your mother, oh, your mother Deep. Deep water. The waters run deep. ...

Share