Tonight I ate ice cream and listened to Billy Collins discuss poetry with Terry Gross. One of the poems they discussed was "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden which is so incredibly beautiful:

--

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

--

See what I mean? That's good stuff.


Then later, I made a CD for my friend Mike. I called it "Girl Power." It was a response to his CD "Music to listen to while being a guy." Also good stuff