In The New Yorker, November 26, 2007, this poem was published … Our life is ordinary,I read in a crumpled paperabandoned on a bench.Our life is ordinary,the philosophers told me. Ordinary life, ordinary days and cares,a concert, a conversation,strolls on the town’s outskirts,good news, bad— but objects and thoughtswere unfinished somehow,rough drafts. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2007/11/26/ordinary-life I love…
In The New Yorker, **November 26, 2007, this poem was published … Our life is ordinary, I read in a crumpled paper abandoned on a bench. Our life is ordinary, the philosophers told me. Ordinary life, ordinary days and cares, a concert, a conversation, strolls on the town’s outskirts, good news, bad— but objects and…
Today has been simply an ordinary day. I did laundry, read, watched football, ate popcorn. Mary Jean Iron writes, “Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect…