A year ago my sister, a poet from Pennsylvania, came to visit me. We talked about how experiences, like a roast hot out of the oven, need a while to settle before we dig into them. They want time to grow inside the cocoon of self before taking fight. Pick your metaphor. We have to wait before we can express our experiences.
Her first poem about Japan, Music of Washing, emerged from its chrysalis this week. When I read the title, I thought it might be about the Japanese laundry machine that she liked. But it isn’t.
