February 1, 2009

Walked under the brilliant stars to Kenn and Michele’s for a gumbo dinner party last night. Met new people, heard about one woman’s house that she is restyling, and another woman’s Chinese daughter, and what she had to go through to adopt her. The tall pathologist was comparing what really happens in his work to CSI. Kenn’s art show at Mars Hill opens in a week, featuring one of my poems rendered into braille and made into– well, something. I’ll have to see it to understand exactly what he was describing. The great grin of the moon was high when I left and low in the west when I walked back.

Hundreds burned, many fatally, when a gas lorry tipped in Kenya. The poor villagers rushed out to scoop up free spilled gas, and then it all exploded. I can hardly stand the thought of it, people imagining they may be getting a little break, a little windfall from the tight fist . . . .