This, too
Mapping the Journey By Laura L. Hansen The old Atlas open in front of me, I plan my route. I will write my first word, there, in the middle of the Northwest Angle of Minnesota, or maybe at the headwaters of the Mississippi. I will run a line of poems down the river, leaving a few asides like backwards- flowing tributaries - nonsensical, yes, but this is my trip and my road atlas so I can plan it as I see fit. My pen has stilled and is pooling leaked ink like a glacial lake forming where no lake was before. You can name it if you want. Preferably something ancient. Here on the lake, you will find shorebirds shaped like commas and dabbling ducks with yellow feet the shape of asterisks that spatter stars across the indigo water. A loon dives and disappears and surfaces on the next page. He is swimming across Kansas. He dives again and his head pops up off the coast of Florida.
This, too, is Minnesota.









The Storm Inside, The Quiet Without by Laura L. Hansen The redlightdistrictdigits of the alarm clock illuminate tornadic twist of sheets blankets artlessly drape off the side of the bed contorted gray sweater torn off in cyclone of night sweat pillows rucked up against the storm the quiet deer slip into the silent town slipping silently across roads nipping lithely over fences their stealthy approach silenced by small gusts of wind
It has been difficult to read or write or do much of anything. My dearest boy (dog) Woody at only nine years has suddenly started to show signs of dementia. When I try to read or write or hold my phone or use the laptop or watch TV he becomes agitated, jumps on me and clings with a desperation that is overwhelmingly painful to see. So, I have grabbed a few moments tonight to share some work in rough progress.
A lot of you have been seeing photos on the news from Minnesota. The Minneapolis/St. Paul metro area is only a very small portion of our beautiful lake-filled and, yes, snowy state. I just wanted to share a few pictures with you of what a fine, fine place this is. It is a boater’s dream, a peaceful place, a land of sunsets and glittering waters and trees that help us breathe. We are the home of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area which we are desperately trying to protect. We are red, we are blue, we are hockey, we are artists and poets and Vikings fans. We do not deserve Trump’s ire and disparagement. We ask for your love.

Laura, I’m so sorry to hear about Woody. It’s hard to watch diminishment in ones we love whether two-legged or four-legged.
I enjoy reading your poems; will have to get up to LF for a face-to-face!