Tuesday, 2:00 p.m.
Freya Manfred read from her work. It was her turn to be a writer, not a Manfred.
"I'm very happy to be here, very grateful to be here," she said.
"I hope this is at least as good as parsley today," she said.
"It so happens I'm sick of these poems...."
Speaking of her father, Frederick Manfred: "He's has been here many times and he's here again...."
"It was a good hospital to die in. You can open the windows when you're there, and you can have fun...."
"Kids can never forgive someone who naps every day...."
"The more you read, the more words you see, and they go in you somewhere, and when you write, they come out...."
"It was a kind of shock to me, when our sons returned to live in the basement...."
"How will I swim, with both arms holding twin sons?"
"I am doing what I can, even if it is never enough...."
"How I praise him for making everything in the world right for one moment...."
"The bewilderment when bread goes across the room...."
"He forgot to buy milk. That's it. Our marriage is over...."
"He's afraid of me. Someone has to be...."
Freya read from what she calls her "lake poems."
"Every day I would go to the lake and write the poems...."
"The lake was writing the poems, not me...."
"I no longer see the lily or the lake, but myself, which is surprising because I have disappeared...."
"I wait for the next true stone to take my hand...."
"I am able to love small things only...."
"... losing heat to the lake, losing my heart to the universe...."
"All is quiet; all is new. We don't even have weather any more...."
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