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Barbara Crooker's Blog

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  THE STONE   was heavy. The family carried it with them, all day. Not one could bear its weight, alone. Yet how they loved it. No other stone had its denseness, its particular way of bending the light. They could not take the stone out in public, had to keep it home, let it sing songs in its...
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Thanks for inviting me to join this conversation. I've been thinking lately about poetry as therapy, partly because of an email conversation with a new friend who's a former therapist, and partly because my own dear mother passed away recently, and this weekend, we brought her ashes to Cape Cod, to...
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