Letting go
In order to hold on
I gradually understand
How poems are made.

There is a place the fear must go.
There is a place the choice must go.
There is a place the loss must go.
The leftover love.
The love that spills out
Of the too full cup
And runs and hides
Its too full self
In shame.

I gradually comprehend
How poems are made.
To the upbeat flight of memories.
The flagged beats of the running
Heart.

I understand how poems are made.
They are the tears
That season the smile.
The stiff-neck laughter
That crowds the throat.
The leftover love.
I know how poems are made.

There is a place the loss must go.
There is a place the gain must go.
The leftover love.

Alice Walker

Spent all day with my little Xuânshine skiing and learning to snowboard. The condition at Whitetail was icy. We kicked off with two runs on the blue trails—neither black nor double black opened. We ate lunch and switched to snowboarding. Xuân was doing good. He could start to link his turns. He just needed a bit more patience to get past the frustrating part.

I didn’t make much progress on snowboarding today. I was still trying to figure out how to change edges without flattening my board and catching the edge. I am taking my time and trying to be patient with snowboarding. I still have a lot to learn, but I can control my board and my speed. My goal is to get my torsional twists down.

I had a fantastic bonding time with Xuân. With four kids, I find spending time alone with just one—once in a while—to be meaningful. I am glad that he decided to spend a whole day with me on the mountains rather than to spend on his digital devices. His brothers chose the latter. They rather played on their computer than went skiing and snowboarding. Of course, it would be fun to go with the whole family, but I was happy hanging out with my little Xuânshine. He has so much strength and energy for a six-year-old boy.

We went back to Liberty for the first time this season. It only had a few green and blue trails. I spent four hours on the bunny slope and the green trail to learn snowboarding. I figured out how to do the toe turn. Even though I still caught the edges occasionally, I was able to put together the “S” turn.

Snowboarding is started to click. My next goal is to make my “S” turns narrower and link my turns smoother. I still have a lot to learn, but I am starting to dig snowboarding. Of course I won’t give up skiing. I still love skiing, but I just want to challenge myself with snowboarding.

We didn’t hit the slopes today because it had rained all day. After skiing for five days straight, we needed a day off to rest and relax before heading back home tomorrow.

Yesterday, Đạo asked his mom and me what was the best vacation we ever had. My wife couldn’t come up with anything at the moment, and I told him, “This is it.” I was having the best time of life enjoying the winter sports and hanging around my love ones. What more could I ask for? I treasured the time we spent together because no one knew how long we could stay on this earth. I don’t want to wait until my clock runs out. I want to take advantage of the time I have with my family. I love my wife and kids too much.

I hope they enjoyed their time with me as well. Anyway, here’s a short video of our trip at Okemo.

Erin Jones and Mauricio Chamberlin Verify:

Yes, warming up your car before driving in cold weather could cause long-term damage to the engine. Most vehicles built after 1980 no longer need to warm up before driving, and experts say driving after 30 seconds to a minute after starting your car is a best practice.

Good to know.

“Morgan What, Morgan Who?” You can’t knock a poet who plays off Jay-Z. “Boys, Boys, Boys” is another riff on Hov’s classic. Parker’s poems have the cadance, the muse, and the audacity. I enjoyed her debut collection, including the shortest piece, “Young, Sassy, and Black”:

I use these words
to distract you.

In her collection of autobiographical poems, Cortez tells the story of Afrofrontierism. She reflects on her enslaved family and her own experience. The history and the poetry are way over my head, but I enjoyed what I could grasp. “Black Lead in a Nancy Meyers Film,” she writes:

Aging, at all. I want that. And to fall
perhaps most honestly in love
beside the ocean, in a home I’ve paid
for by doing as I like: drinking good
wine, dusting sugar over a croissant, or
the stage play I’m writing myself into.
Aging Black woman in neutral summer
turtleneck. Known. And jogging. Lonesome
enough. Eating homemade lavender
ice cream, the moon blooming
through the kitchen window. The distant
sound of waves. Learning
French as a second language.
Votre pâte merveilleux, I smile back.
And then, just like that! Falling, cautiously,
for my busy, middle-aged lover,
who needs me, but has never truly seen me
until now. Our Black friends, celebrating
with hors d’oeuvres. Our Black children,
growing older.

An accessible collection of poems exploring everyday interactions including boss, bully, friends, and parent. It’s nice to read a local author from George Mason University. Markowitz teaches at Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. The poems are easy to read and to be inspired. Here’s his perspective on “Life”:

Life’s not about perfection nor about rejection
it’s about reflection, introspection,
doing the best we can,
respecting whomever we can,
giving personal support, smiling awhile
crying at times, enjoying the gift of life.

During my snowboarding lesson yesterday, I fell and almost twisted my right knee. Later into the night I could barely lift up my leg without feeling the sharp pain. I thought I won’t be able to ski today. When I woke up this morning, I still felt the pain, but I determined to hit the slopes to ski with my little Vương.

Today, the boys and I went all the way to the top of the mountain. I wanted to take Vương all around the green slopes. We did fine for a bit and then took the shortcut to the blue slope to get back down to the base. It was a big mistake. Vương got a little scared even though I held on to him the whole time. Skiing on the blue slope with a toddler was quite a challenge, but we made it back down with just one fall.

After lunch, I left Vương with his mom and the rest of us went back to the black slopes. After five days straight on the slopes, I could feel the pain. I was exhausted and my legs gave out. And yet, the pain on my knee has subsided without any painkillers or patches. We managed to do two runs before the lift closed out.

All-day rain is forecast for tomorrow. We might just stay in and rest up before heading back home on Saturday. We’ll see.

Sharif’s poems are simple yet beyond my comprehension. I had to read her collection twice to understand some of her works including “Social Skills Training,” “He, Too,” and “Patronage.” I don’t quite understand “Without Which,” in which she uses lots of closing brackets (“]]”). I would love to audit her class if I have the opportunity. Here’s her exchange with an officer in “He, Too”:

Upon my return to the US,
he asks my occupation. Teacher.

What do you teach?
Poetry.

I hate poetry, the officer says,
I only like writing
where you can make an argument.

Anything he asks, I must answer.
This, too, he likes.

I don’t tell him
he will be in a poem
where the argument will be

anti-American.

I place him here, puffy,
pink, ringed in plexi, pleased

with his own wit and spittle.
Saving the argument
I am let in

I am let in until