5 miles highland bridge (old ford plant) 58 degrees
58 degrees?! 58 degrees. Spring is back. Today I wore shorts, a short-sleeved shirt and a pullover that I took off before the end of the second mile. Ran south on the river road, down towards the locks and dam no. 1, up the wabun hill, over the ford bridge, to the edge of highland bridge park and across to the river where it is above the old hydroelectric power plant. As I neared it, I could hear the water rushing over the concrete apron at the locks and dam. The river is low; the sandy island in the middle was exposed.
The birds! Sounding like spring. The river! Sparkling in the sun. The shadows! Both sharp (distinct) and soft (the bare branches almost feathery on the path).
overheard: one biker to another — he’s between jobs right now. No contracts and no money coming in.
Is it because it’s warm, or because I started just a little too fast, but the second half of the run was hard(er). Took some breaks to admire the view. On the St. Paul side, I noticed a sticker on the fence that looked like the head of the “Hanker for a Hunka Cheese” guy:
“Time for Timer”
holes
Worked on Holes 5 today, mostly mapping the words on the page. Here’s a draft of the text:
A hole perspective life on the way to Disney’s wonder land
I fall through the center of a book
everything on the page at strange angles separated from each other in the firelit room*
a “what is this?” feeling starts while watching text bloom into nonsense
O the beauty of vision gone mad.
*not sure about this line — I’m thinking of, like in a firelit room, but low light from a fire doesn’t separate words, it softens them, makes them dim so they almost become ghosts of the text they were
Went to the dog park with FWA and Delia this morning. Chilly but sunny and still down in the floodplain. Beautiful. No snow, hardly any mud, lots of felled trees. Halfway in we encountered an awesome dog carrying a stick that was 3 times as wide as his head. His owner said, the governor is about 200 feet ahead. Last summer, I recalled watching a video of Gov. Walz being interviewed at the dog park, so I knew he came here. About 5 minutes later, there he was! Alone and friendly. Hello! Hi! Of course, I couldn’t see well enough to recognize him, but FWA could. I wish I could have seen that it was him. I would have told him thank you.
5 Dog Park Things / 5 Winchell Trail Things
a section of the river, sparkling in the sun
the bark of the giant felled tree that FWA and I have walked around all this year had been stripped recently — a huge section of the trunk was barkless and gleaming white
faint footprints through the small stretches of mud
a motorboat rumbling by, making waves that rushed onto the shore near Delia
a woodpecker knocking on some dead wood, another (or the same one?) laughing
shadows everywhere — trees, the fence, lamp posts
the winchell trail path was covered in dry leaves that made a delightful crunch as I ran over them
a steady stream of cars (at 3:30 pm)
empty benches
no snow, no puddles
2.8 miles river road / winchell / lena smith 46 degrees
A quick run — in time and distance and speed. I should have slowed it down; it would have been easier. It’s hard to slow down in my new shoes! I was tired and felt the beginnings of a side stitch a mile in — I ate a protein bar too soon.
Today has been an off day — not terrible, there were many good moments in the hike and the run. But I woke earlier than I should have and felt, for lack of better word, weird. Untethered, fuzzy, maybe a little woozy, tired.
holes
As I continue to work on my holes poems, it has emerged that a few things are present in all of five of them: a hole, that hole’s impact on how I read, my blind spot, and the Amsler grid.
Why the Amsler Grid?
it connects these hole poems with my last round of visual vision poems, mood rings, which take the shape of an amsler grid
it ties in with the larger theme of all of my visual vision poems: vision tests — first, the snellen charts, then the amsler grid
it gives a context for my vision loss and grounds it in within a scientific/medical model of seeing/not seeing
it offers another way to visualize my untethering from that model/logic of test/diagnosis
This 4th one is especially interesting to me. I’m imagining fun ways to play with the implosion or destruction or destabilizing of the sharp, stable, rigid lines of a grid. The lines coming loose, or the lines a ladder without rungs — no way out of the hole, the lines collapsing and being sucked into the black hole, the lines forming a new path, a break in the lines — a gap, a dash, a slash, a breaking out of the lines — an opening, an exit, a room a door unlocked. What could that look like as part of my erasure poem? I mean, what, with my very limited skills in visual art, could I make possible?
I think I need to watch Alice in Wonderland again — should I read it, too? The hole in my vision as Alice’s rabbit hole. A passing through to wonderland. One difference: for Alice, Wonderland is the opposite of sense or nonsense.
everything would be what it wasn’t
I’d like to take this idea of non-sense out of the binary, Sense/Nonsense, to imagine non-sense as being more than just not sense. What if non-sense was its own kind of sense, just like Nothing is not nothing but something outside of our logic or language or ability to name it. Or, like I say in Holes 4, “a nothing that is something not sharing its secrets.
a flash: as I was working on the above list, I suddenly thought about the debate over whether or not listening to an audio book was reading. Does reading only happen with eyes? I like to distinguish it this way: reading with my eyes and reading with my ears. After this thought, a further thought: what if I created a holes poem that wasn’t visual, but aural? I could pick one of the New Yorker stories/articles that you can listen to, and figure out a poem from that. How might that work?
I had intended to work on all of this today, but I was busy all day: a birthday week coffee run with RJP, the dog park with FWA, weekly shopping with Scott, a run + cooking and laundry and a nap.
sleep
I decided to use my Apple watch this week to monitor my sleep. I’m averaging 6 1/2 hours a night, which I think is good for me, but only “okay” for my sleep score. Maybe that’s because I’m waking up every 2 hours. I have to get out of bed and stretch or go to the bathroom or walk around for 10 or 20 or more minutes before falling back asleep again. A thought occurred to me: could my low vision be contributing to my sleep problems? I googled it and yes, it might:
Visual impairment can lead to disturbances in the circadian rhythm20 and exacerbate neuropsychiatric conditions such as anxiety and depression, ultimately impairing central nervous system functionality and contributing to the development of insomnia21. Existing research underscores the negative impact of visual impairment on sleep patterns. Studies conducted in Russia found that individuals with visual impairment had more than twice the odds of reporting insomnia symptoms compared to those without, with this association remaining significant even after adjusting for factors such as age and gender21. This finding further confirms the link between visual dysfunction and sleep disturbances. Community research in the U.S. suggested that older adults with visual impairment are more likely to experience various sleep issues, such as difficulty falling asleep, trouble staying asleep, early morning awakenings, and daytime sleepiness22. Additionally, such individuals often report increased disrupted sleep patterns and a higher prevalence of sleep/wake disturbances23.
But, this study studied different visual impairments than I have. What about cone dystrophy or macular degeneration, which has similar effects? I looked it up and found some articles that link it, but it’s mostly about anxiety over vision loss that cause the sleep disturbances. I know I have some anxiety about the final break, when none of my cone cells work and all of my central vision is gone, but I think the connection between sleeping and not seeing or seeing differently is more complicated for me. I’ll have to ask the ophthalmologist at my appointment next month.
Yesterday it was 76 degrees, today 36. I didn’t mind; everything was dry and clear and I was able to run on all the walking trails in my new blue shoes! Today it’s overcast and both bright — a white sky — and gloomy — everything dull and bare. Did I see any shadows? I don’t think so.
I felt strong, not quite like I could run for several hours without stopping, but at least believing that it is possible. I also felt untethered from the world, everything fuzzy and me, floating above it or outside of it.
10 Things
early on, another running passing me, their feet slap slap slaping the ground
several geese honking below the ford bridge
empty benches
two women stopped on the edge of the trail near the 42nd street parking lot, talking — I couldn’t hear what they were saying
heading up the wabun hill — no one else around, just me and the dirt and the dead leaves
running through wabun: several people playing frisbee golf, two little kids running around the course, giggling
lots of traffic on ford and the river road — cars moving fast, no sunday drivers today!
a man in a bright orange jacket, sitting on the edge, above a ravine, looking out at the river
the bright headlights of a car, giving off a purple glow
a sound across the river road and the grassy boulevard — a gobbling turkey or a yelling kid? Undetermined
holes
I’m working on another holes poem — Holes 5. I’m using an essay about Rian Johnson, “Mystery Man” in the November 17, 2025 issue. My only requirement for an essay is that it contains the word hole, either as the word itself, or as part of/within another word. When I searched in “Mystery Man” for hole I found 4 instances of it including, “my wHOLE perspective,” “wHOLE time,” and “the wHOLE process.” I’m thinking these will be frame of my poem, especially Hole Time and Hole Perspective. What is my perspective (how do I see) with and from within my vision hole?
another part of my method: In addition to requiring a chosen essay has at least instance of “hole,” I read the essay from back to front. I started with the last paragraph, jotting down any words that stood out to me, then I read the second to last paragraph, then the third to last, and so on. It was a strange experience. I kept finding myself wondering, when I read a name I didn’t recognize, if I had missed the introduction/description of the name, then I remembered that I was reading back to front, from an assumption of familiarity to a not-knowingness (or not knowing yet-ness).
Here is a selection of words and phrases I jotted down:
bookshelf
stone
let me
still
strings
filters
window
flash
beauty
gathered
convivial
ends
spectrum
unexplainable
gesture
earthiness
underside
gnarled roots of a tree
feel
loop er
limitations / limit s
making diagrams with straws
an older version
flock
singular
(un) locked room
mind / mind’s eye / eye
tidy solution
make sense of it all
some measure of control over an uncontrollable world
the world has gone mad
center
puzzle
watch ed
the satisfaction of seeing
firelit
delight
smug
cringe
between
it seemed dusty
hypothetical
enters
throuhout
leap
a ghost
nobody
flock
vision
get in the way
framework
scam
everything
(r) ambling
story
distance
slanted
attention
made
backward
moving around
wonder
read
what is this?
slip away
lept
feeling trapped
peculiar
sunshine
looming
house
couldn’t see
covered in string
over
This essay is five pages long, so I’ll have to figure that out — all 5 pages, or 4 to make it fit more evenly? Or even less?
walk: 120 minutes with Scott and Delia deep in the gorge + the winchell trail 76 degrees
I’m writing this the next morning because I took a break (mostly) from my computer and writing. So warm! I wore shorts and a short-sleeved shirt on our walk/hike! We walked through the neighborhood to the river and when we crossed the road to throw away Delia’s poop bag, we decided to take the old stone steps down to the river. The floodplain forest was filled with fallen trees and dead leaves: winter’s aftermath. The river was open and flowing. People everywhere — it wasn’t crowded, just a person walking a dog here, two people talking on a blanket there. Everyone enjoying the sun and the warm wind and the lack of ice.
I loudly misidentified a person as a wild turkey. Oh look, a wild TURKEY! Why is it that only when I am mis-seing something do I bother to say it out loud, and with such volume? It’s funny, and Scott and I laughed about it, but it is also frustrating. I sound like an idiot or mad. I said to Scott it’s funny as comedy and irony (the irony because I only declare these things when I’m very wrong).
holes
A return: the hole in Holes 1, which was the start of all of these holes — Another name for barely not blind is a hole in your vision that makes for an easy fellowship with the word. Now I’m thinking that I should tighten these poems up and make them only about reading. So, the hole in Holes 2 would be: a hole through the bottom of / the / wor / d / here / it is / unprofitable / to / have / faith / in / the / visible. And Holes 4 would be only: you look at sky, || you look at || words || you || don’t || see || the || gaping hole / and || its / graveyard / for / failed / cone / cell / s / you see / snow flake marble dust / seltzer / fizz|| a / nothing / that / is / something / not / shar/ ing / its / secrets
Get Out ICE
ICE agents are still here, but not at the levels they were a month ago. Two of the leaders that caused the most damage — Noem and Bovino — have been removed (Bovino announced his retirement the other day). Even so, the effects — psychological, physical, economic — still linger for many Minnesotas. Food is still being delivered to families afraid to leave their homes, organizations are still raising money to help people pay their rent. The stop signs around my house still declare, “STOP ICE.” The latest threat: Trump threatens to send ICE agents to airports to take over TSA jobs abandoned by workers not paid because of the partial government shutdown.
Since just after an ICE agent murdered Renee Good on 7 jan, I’ve been adding “Get Out ICE” to my log entries, both in the title and as a tag. I think it’s time to stop. A better thing to add now might be: What about the Epstein files? or Stop the war!
Mary Oliver Doc on PBS this summer!
I’m looking forward to this documentary!
“I was save by poetry. I was saved by the beauty of the world.”
I want to put MO’s idea of being saved by the beauty of the world beside the banner that Hanif Abdurraqib has above and between two door frames in this Instagram picture: “LIFE’S NOT OUT TO GET YOU” Yes! Always a good reminder.
4.3 miles minnehaha falls and back 44 degrees 10% puddles
Spring! Sun! Sharp shadows! Clear paths with far less puddles! I felt strong and satisifed and at ease in my body. Well, mostly at ease. Because it’s messy out by the gorge, I wore an old pair of shoes — the ones that don’t quite work. Sometimes my gait felt awkward, my feet not hitting the ground in the right spot or in the right way.
Marveled at the river’s surface as I ran above it. So beautiful with its frozen surface. In the past, I’ve described the surface as vast or barren or eerie, surreal or otherworldly, but today other words came to mind: still, frozen, fixed, unmoving, deadened, paused, suspended. Yes! I think these words better describe its strange beauty for me. Looking at it is like looking at a film still. Looking at it feels like everything is paused, suspended in time.
10 Things
gushing falls — I could hear their loud descent and see their white foam
looking down at the oak savanna, tall, slender, bare branches mixed with their shadows to make a mess of lines on the snow — how much of it was actual trees, how much shadow? I couldn’t tell
water dripping fast and strong over the limestone edges in the ravine at 42nd street
empty benches
a guy walking with a small dog and looking at his phone
someone biking near the falls playing some mellow music out of speakers
taking off my sweatshirt, running with bare arms, seeing a walker with bare arms too
sirens in the distance, a loud, sustained whistle
the walking trails are still covered in snow
the gutter that was gushing water yesterday now only has trickles
Off and on throughout the run, I recited Alice Oswald’s “The Story of Falling,” sometimes reciting it in my head, sometimes out loud.
Holes
I’ve mapped some more of Holes 4 and . . . it’s a lot. Will this just look like an ugly, jumbled mess? Yesterday, talking through this with Scott, he said something like, do what serves the poem and the meaning you are trying to convey (or the effect you are trying to achieve). In terms of meaning, the words of the first section of the poem are about what I see instead of a gaping hole: shimmering, fizzy, ephemeral or elusive (hard to see, fleeting) things: snow flake marble dust, seltzer fizz, a nothing that is something not sharing its secrets. Perhaps these ephemeral things have come loose from what bound them to “normal” sight and its monitoring through tests like the amsler grid; it’s where you dwell when normal sight is not longer possible. So maybe the unraveling occurs prior to this hole? Yes, the unraveling (and vision of amsler grid as broken strings happens in 2 and 3, Does that mean that Holes 4 is all disconnected free-floating words/phrases? If so, how to make it possible for others to read it? I could place the poem near the center, around the gaping hole. I could also number the pages/sections and mark each word with a page number? Yes, I like this!
And hours later, I’m thinking more of using a distorted Amsler Grid at the center of Holes 4, and the black hole that the grid is collapsing into is the shape of blind spot.
Another mini project: can I learn how to draw decent-enough eyeballs — pupil and iris only?
amsler ideavery rough eyepoem text
Get Out ICE
This flyer about the next No Kings march came up on Facebook from Minnesota’s Lt. Gov Peggy Flanagan (and hopefully our next governor?!):
“In Minnesota, we’ve seen the federal government at its worst — and showed the world how to fight back.
Now, I’m honored that the flagship No Kings protest will be held here in the Twin Cities. Together, we’ll show Donald Trump that we don’t do kings.”
NO KINGS TWIN CITIES VOL. 3. Joan Baex Jane Fonda Maggie Rogers. March 28, 12 pm. March then rally at the State Capital.
2.3 river road, south / lena smith boulevard, north 15 degrees / feels like 0 50% snow-covered
Many of the sidewalks were completely bare and dry, almost all of the trail was covered in slick snow. In some stretches, the trail was covered with chunks of snow from the snow plows that had just passed by. Running south, with the sun and the wind at my back, and on the short strips of bare pavement, it felt good. Then I ran through a puddle. I didn’t notice that my foot was soaked for several minutes, but when I did I decided I should head home; it was cold enough that I was (mildly) concerned for my wet toes. Good call, past Sara! When I got home, one of my toes was burning.
10 Things
bright BLUE sky
the sounds of shoveling and scraping and snow-blowing all around
at the end of each block, I encountered an almost knee-high wall of snow where the plow had come through
the surface of the river looked eerie and strange, pale and spotted with chunks of ice
no kids’ voices from the school playground: for preK – 5th graders, school was closed, for 6th – 12th graders e-learning — that would suck! give the big kids a snow day too, I say!
the rumble of two plows approaching, first a small one, then BIG one — I moved to the far side to avoid the spray of snow
I encountered a few other runners but no skiers or bikers
head north, I ran into a wall of wind — ugh! howling and biting
I bet it was pretty and looked very winter wonderland-y — I couldn’t tell you because I was too busy trying not to slip!
if it hadn’t been for the terrible wind, my wet toes, and the slick and uneven path, it would have been a great run — even with the bad conditions, I had some wonderful moments outside
mind-body connection
On last week’s episode of the podcast Nobody Asked Us, Kara Goucher talked about how she started taking a low dose of some (unnamed) anti-anxiety medication and it’s helping with her dystonia (“a movement disorder that causes the muscles to contract. This can cause twisting motions or other movements that happen repeatedly and that aren’t under the person’s control” — Mayo Clinic). She has discussed many times on the podcast how dystonia has made it very difficult for her to run, especially on pavement.
mind body connection — watch until 15:58
This mind-body connection is fascinating to me. Does her anti-anxiety med just make her more relaxed, or does it do something more to the brain — and maybe the neural mapping of her movements?
HOLES 4
Today I’m mapping my words on a copy of the “Still Life” article. I”m trying something different. In Holes 1, 2, and 3, I taped the paper together first and then found the words and drew the holes over and around the words. Today, with such a long article, I’m finding the words and drawing holes around them first, before I tape the pieces together. Will that make a difference? Not sure, but I might switch around the order of the pages to shape how the holes look together.
I drew and colored in holes on 3 out of the 8 pages, and tried adding some color to a few. I’m wondering if some of the holes should messier, with less defined borders or jagged, rough. I have limited ability in drawing; can I push myself some more? Here’s an image of one of the pages:
Wasn’t planning to run this late afternoon, but snow is coming and Scott was going out for a run and I got my new pair of shoes, so I decided to go for it (or get after it as Carrie Tollefson would say). Scott and I didn’t run together, just at the same time (5:45 pm) and in the same place (near the gorge). What a great run! Was it the sun and the crisp, early spring cold? The healthy food I ate for breakfast and lunch? The new shoes? I’m not sure, but I felt strong and fast and free. On my way back, I encountered a HUGE group of runners running north, all much faster than me. At some point, I heard someone call out, good job Mill City Runners! Of course, Mill City. That’s one of the biggest running groups in the twin cities. Wow, I knew they were big, but I had no idea they were that big!
I liked running in the early evening. Other than the huge group of runners, there weren’t that many people out on the trails. I noticed the light was lower, but it was too early to see any evidence of a sun about to set. The favorite thing I noticed: wild turkeys! Half a dozen grazing in the grass just north of turkey hollow, another one of them grazing in the grass between the trail and the road.
I stopped briefly at Rachel Dow Memorial Bench and took a picture of the blue water and the thin branches softening my view:
blue / 13 march
Friday the 13th! Tonight Scott and I will do our annual tradition of watching Friday the 13th. It’s not as good as Halloween, but it has its moments.
update, 14 saturday 2026: We watched it and Scott figured noticed something neither of us had in our previous viewings of the movie (5 or 6 or more?): each of the deaths is foreshadowed by something that happened earlier in the movie: the character who is murdered on the archery field is almost hit with an arrow a few hours earlier; another character recounts a dream she had where the rain turns into a river of blood which she calls her shower dream, only a few scenes before an axe splits her skull in a shower stall; Alice (the final girl) is surprised by the town weirdo or town prophet, depending on your perspective, when she opens the door to the pantry and he emerges, calling out, you’re doomed. you’re all DOOMED!, and then hides in that same pantry later that nightonly to be found by the killer
Crazy Ralph warning the kids
Later, Scott also realized that there were connections with the murder weapon. For example: the arrow through Jack’s throat ends up at the archery range where Brenda is killed; the axe that splits Marcy’s skull is later found, bloodied, of course, by Alice in Brenda’s bed
a few memorable lines: Jack (Kevin Bacon), about a coming storm: the wind just shifted a good 180 degrees and it’s going to tear down the valley like a son of a gun Brenda (can’t remember the actor’s name, but Scott looked her up and she died at the age of 49 in 2007 from pancreatic cancer — my mom died at 67 from pancreatic cancer in 2009), reacting to Bill fixing the generator: what hath God wrought
HOLES
Reworking Holes 3 to allow for better spacing of the holes. Here’s the new version of the poem:
read sentences sliced in half with strangeness each one glitch ing just enough to scramble the senses OR scramble the meaning
fall through the hole your reading eyes find and land in a logic of blur and almost on the border between real and imagined
And here’s a photo of it:
holes 3
RJP and I went to the Textile Center and it was fun and helpful to think about translating my ideas about holes into actual fabric and textures. I found some black netting that will be helpful and another wildly color thin fabric that might work. The question now is: how to use the fabric. I’m not sure it’s can be as simple as cutting the fabric in the shape of my blind spot — that just seems like bad decoration. What I want to do is use texture to convey how I see/read and what it feels like to do these things with my blind spot. My blind spot is rarely actually visible, and when it is, it’s not a black, opaque spot.
A few new ideas: cover the words where the blind spot is in plastic that you can see through, but that makes words too fuzzy to read.
A lattice of twigs, gathered at the gorge, covering the blind spot — when I see these twigs, it often reminds of my scrambled central vision.
Some sort of fuzzy, fluffy texture that evokes softness, which is one thing that happens to my central vision with less working cones: everything is softer, less detailed, not sharp or harsh
The key, I think, is to use texture to communicate different aspects of my new ways of seeing with hardly any cone cells: it’s fuzzy and soft; it’s vague; it seems like there’s a film over it and that I can almost see it but not quite
Get out ICE
Read about Minnesota lawyers quietly organizing to help immigrant families:
Lawyers Built a Network: MPR also reported Thursday that hundreds of Minnesota attorneys volunteered during the surge to challenge immigration detentions in federal court, creating a rapid pro bono legal network across the state. Lawyers from a wide range of practice areas stepped in, and the article describes a system that turned scattered cases into coordinated courtroom action. It is one more reminder that some of the most important resistance in this story has happened quietly, inside petitions, filings, and courtrooms.
Sean Snow on Facebook / 13 march 2026
and from the article Sean Snow is referencing:
Since the beginning of so-called “Operation Metro Surge” in December, attorneys in Minnesota have filed more than 1,000 cases challenging the legality of immigration arrests and detentions.
Many of those filings came from lawyers who don’t normally practice immigration law.
Ran over the lake street bridge and to the monument today. When was the last time I ran this route? Just checked, it was 5 nov 2025. Wow! Of course, part of the reason why I haven’t run over there is because of the winter; they don’t plow the sidewalk on the bridge, and St. Paul, where the monument is, doesn’t plow their trails as well as Minneapolis. But another reason is definitely ICE; I’ve been staying closer to home with my runs because it feels safer.
Today’s run was good; I felt (mostly) strong, although my legs/feet are sore from wearing the shoes that make them hurt. It was windy and cold on the bridge, but it was beautiful. Steel gray water, open and high enough to hide the sandbars. Scattered stretches of the east and west banks were glowing with white snow. The sun was dulled by a thin layer of clouds.
10 Things
drip drip drip drip — the steady drip of water falling off the bridge near the east steps
graffiti — pink and orange and black block letters under the bridge
I only encountered 1 or 2 people over the bridge, both walking
the bells of st. thomas chiming at noon! 15 minutes later, at 12:15
running above shadow falls I glimpsed a dark flash of something — a tree? no, a person
with several more glances I realized the person was not hiking but running
they were nearing the worn dirt trail that climbs up and out of the ravine
St. Paul has replaced the port-a-potty at the edge of the monument parking lot — there is much less graffiti on this new one, and the door closes all the way — hooray!
near the edge of an overlook on the east bank, staring out at the other bluff and down at the water — a hiker emerges
a plaque on the bench for, “what a woman” Sharon. She was born 2 weeks after my dad was in 1941 and died in 2002 — so young!
Holes
Currently, I have 3 Holes erasure poems. Holes 1 is about my uneasy fellowship with the word. Holes 2 is about how the hole (my blind spot) makes it unprofitable to have faith in the visible. And Holes 3 is about falling through the hole into “who knows where”, on the border between the real and surreal. I need to do at least one more hole about the small holdout-of-a-hole in the very center of my vision that enables me to still read (even if that reading is slow and sometimes unreliable).
Tomorrow, RJP and I go shopping for textiles and textures at the Stashery, so today I’m working on mapping out Holes 3. I’m using “Me, Myself, and I: Helen Oyeyemi’s Novel of Cognitive Dissonance” from The New Yorker, August 25, 2025. Here is the version I just drafted:
swap the dead-eyed liturgy of doomed vision with shadowed acts that leap for the light (OR flee from the light?)
read sentences sliced in half with strangeness each one glitch ing enough to let in the improbable
fall through the hole your reading eyes find / or your reading finds / or your eyes find and land in a logic of blur and almost
Is this too many words to easily/cleanly map out? Let’s find out! And if not, let’s shift the form to make it work! — several minutes pass — Okay, I mapped it, and it seems like too many words. I think I’ll save my “darling” — the line that started it all about swapping the dead-eyed liturgy for another project — a liturgy of shadowed acts and the periphery! Anyway, I’ll try to keep the rest of the poem, and figure out the rest of holes is a project tomorrow morning.
Get Out ICE and Ice
The other day I wondered when the ice would be gone from Lake Nokomis. This morning, Minneapolis Parks and Recreation Board offered a prediction!
Minneapolis Parks Water Quality staff have tracked “ice off” dates on city lakes for decades. Ice off is declared when a lake is substantially free of ice after being fully frozen.
We’re probably not setting any records like 2018 or 2024, which dominate the record books. Staff estimate we could see ice off on small lakes like Powderhorn and Loring as soon as this weekend. It will probably be a few more weeks for larger lakes.
Will the HUGE winter storm we’re expecting on Saturday night and all day Sunday impact the ice off date? BTW, I’m pretty sure that they used to refer to this as the ice out date; I think they’ve changed it because of the very negative association with ICE. I checked past entries on my log, and yes, that was what it was called. Negative association aside, I like ice out better than ice off.
Snow. A dusting last night, then a little more in the morning. An inch? Enough to make everything white. I was happy to be done with winter, but I don’t mind the snow. Since past snow has already melted and the ground has already warmed up, the snow didn’t stick around. By the time I went out for my run in the afternoon, almost everything was clear. The run didn’t feel easy, but I pushed through several difficult moments and kept going. Hooray for mental victories!
I listened to the dripping and gushing and the wheel whooshing as I ran south, 2 playlists — “Bunnies and Rabbits” and “the Wheelin’ Life” — as I ran back north.
10 Things
sh sh sh — the shifting grit under my feet
the wet pavement was shining and sparkling in the sun — so bright sometimes that I thought it was slick ice
entering minnehaha park, the parking lot was empty
exiting the park 10 or more minutes later, there was one car at the far end of the parking lot
the creek was rushing
the sidewalk on the bridge just above the falls was wet and clear — last week someone had chalked a long message on it, which I couldn’t read because of my bad vision
on the walk just before I started, I noticed a small black bird skittering along the grass — it had a small circle of white feathers below its eye
a runner in a bright red jacket stopped at the Rachel Dow Memorial Bench, a minute later they ran down a hill on the winchell trail
only 1 or 2 small patches of ice, a few puddles
I almost didn’t remember this one! — three people on the bridge over the falls, looking over the creek side. One, to the others, pointing down at the creek: look, there’s 75 cents! One of the others, joked (I hope): better go down there and get it!
Rabbit Recap
Slowly but surely, I’m getting to the end of my rabbit recap, but not today! See past rabbit recaps here: 9 march, 6 march, 5 march, and 4 march.
14 — 25 march 2026
Here’s a useful explanation of some reasons why I do monthly challenges about new topics, like rabbits (or wind or dirt, etc.):
And what’s the point of all of this? Following the rabbit down the rabbit hole is a wonderful distraction. It is also an excellent opportunity to learn. And to learn more about rabbits, which leads to caring about them as living things and as symbols. This caring might (is) enabling me to open up a closed part of myself (closed = strong dislike of rabbits). And it is helping me to think more broadly and specifically about the impacts of humans and human encroachment on environments and the consequences of that encroachment for humans and non-humans. Plus, all (or any) of it could inspire new poems.
A quick summary of some rabbits references and reveries: the killer bunny in Monty Python; Bunny Lebowski; Rabbit in Red matchbook from Halloween; Jimmy Stewart’s invisible bunny in Harvey; Max and Ruby; the PBS doc The Pill; Rabbit in Winnie-the-Pooh; the Cadbury Creme Egg Bunny; The Runaway Bunny; fix me hausenpffefer right away!
Rabbits in Diane Seuss:
excerpt from backyard song / Diane Seuss — I LOVE this whole poem. I’d like to use it as inspiration for a hole poem and a bunny poem!
Uncorked, I had a thought: I want the want I dreamed of wanting once, a quarter cup of sneak-peek at what prowls in the back, at what sings in the wet rag space behind the garage, back where the rabbits nest
excerpt from Her first poem had a rabbit / Diane Seuss — I want to bring in the optical illusion of the bunny and duck + the idea of what seems mild but is really wild
She tended toward rabbits back then. Toward the theoretically mild
that are really wild. Like ducks on a pond that is really a moon
New Yorker Experiment: A hole through the bottom of the known world
Today I worked on the template for my hole poem that erases the “Whisker Wars.” It has some of my blind spot, some big circles (from a iron pill cap), some medium sized-circles (lexipro cap), small (a quarter), and extra small (a penny). I want to create texture for the blind spots but leave the circles alone as pencil/gray.
a hole through the bottom of the known world
My choice of blind spots vs. circles, and the size of the circles, was mostly decided by what would fit where, but there might be some room to play around with some of it. I’ll think about it some more.
The words: nothing still / details drift like snow / cut off heads with pewter-colored faces float / a hole through the bottom of the known world / here it’s unprofitable to have faith in the visible — should it be what is visible?
added an hour later: I realized a further clarification on the idea of the hole and holes. The blind spot creates a hole in my vision, an absence that has created an uneasy fellowship with the world and made it unprofitable to have faith in the visible. But, there is also the small hole that remains in the otherwise dark blind spot that enables me to still read — it’s a small hole, and it’s getting smaller, but it’s still there. I’m noticing that my whisker wars poem offers many different sizes of holes depending on how many words I’m trying to fit in it. I need to have a poem that highlights that tiny hole holdout — ooo, holdout is a word in the whiskey wars article. Should I do a completely different poem using the same text?
Get out ICE
Each morning a local journalist, Sean Snow, offers updates on what’s happening in Minnesota, both what ICE and those in state and federal government that support ICE are doing, and how people and their communities are fighting back. I read them on Facebook, but he also posts them on Threads, Instagram, Tiktok, and YouTube. Today one of his examples
— sitting at the dining room table, drinking my coffee while I write this, I just heard a long goose fly by — honk honk —
was about “a real act of public memory” n St. Paul:
Testimony Builds The Record: Minnesota residents, advocates, and families testified Tuesday in St. Paul before the chair of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights about what they experienced during Operation Metro Surge. Star Tribune reported that people described racial discrimination, abusive detention conditions, treatment of protesters, and the deaths of two citizens, all in hopes of pushing the commission toward a formal investigation. This was not a final ruling or a courtroom win. But it was a real act of public memory and accountability on a day when it would have been easy for the country to start looking away.
Today I had a blood test to re-check my iron and my thyroid in the morning. No coffee or food until it was done at 11, so also no running. Just sitting and writing and witnessing the world outside my windows: walkers, one runner, some dogs, the little girl at the daycare next door named Mabel stopping a walker and forcing a conversation, elementary boys — so LOUD — running down the street.
New Yorker Experiment / Holes
A slight shift in my first hole poem. Instead of, another name for barely not blind is a hole in your vision that makes for an uneasy fellowship with the world, it is, another name for barely not blind is a hole in your vision that makes for an uneasy fellowship with the word. So, word not world. Since this poem is about how I read, word makes more sense to me. Part of me would like to keep both world and word, but most of me thinks I should keep it simple with word.
In my draft version, I’ve hastily shaded in the circles/my blind spot with pencil, so they are all gray blobs and dots. The only times I recall seeing gray blobs are: looking at a backlit face and staring at the wall for several seconds. When I look at text, like on this screen, I see a few words in the center and then . . . what? Difficult to put into words. Everything is buzzing, shifting, textured. I want to experiment with the blind spot blob in my poem by adding texture — I mentioned adding gauze or glitter on 8 march. RJP and I are planning to visit the Stashery at the Textile Center this week to see if I can find some cool materials.
While I let that simmer, I’ll return to the last page of experiment #5 (continued from 9 march):
words that stand out from Whisker Wars, page 3
face / faced
self-mastery
the Lord knows who
hold outs persist ed
who was as devoted as
you might think
emerged
embraced
writing
float /ed
only
unprofitable
propaganda
a sideshow staple / enfreakment
mishaps
cannot fully explains
died
few of us see
express rapture at seeing
poem reads
endures
Here’s what I have so far:
nothing still details drift like snow cut off heads with pewter-colored faces float
a hole through the bottom of the known world.
here it is unprofitable to have faith / to put faith / to believe in the visible / what is visible
an uneasy fellowship with the world
As of now, I’ve decided to use the line uneasy fellowship with the word, but I also do have an uneasy fellowship with the world because I am barely not blind. Here’s an example of that uneasy fellowship from today’s visit to the clinic for a blood test:
I walk into the clinic with Scott and he points out the line for me to stand in as I wait to be checked in. It’s happened so fast that I have not had a chance to read the sign that tells me what this line is, I just know I’m supposed to stand in it. So I stand and wait with the person behind the counter directly in front of me, several feet away. There is another line with people in it, waiting, with a person behind the counter directly in front of them. I wait, looking vaguely in front of me at the person behind the counter and the person they are helping, trying not to stare or look as if I’m impatient (even though I am). To the side, I notice the person being helped at the other counter is done and hear the woman behind that counter tell the person in her line, wait. Then I hear her call out sharply, Scheduled! And then, Scheduled! I wonder what she means; it sounds strange. And then, Scheduled! I feel several quick, sharp pokes in my back. The person behind me is trying to get my attention. I realize that the woman behind the opposite counter is calling out to me. I am “Scheduled” because I have a scheduled appointment.1Oh, I’m sorry! I approach the counter and she barks at me, name and date of birth! She softens a little after I answer promptly.
For a flash, I wanted to cry, but didn’t. It is such a small thing that doesn’t really matter. For a brief moment, I was that person, the irritating one in the line that wasn’t paying attention, holding everything up. Yet, it is a reminder of what I can’t do, or what I can barely do, or what I can only do with a lot of effort — and patience from those around me. It is a reminder that I am nearly (legally) blind.
I suppose these moments might matter less the more I experience them — both because I’ll get better at accounting for them and better at not being bothered by them. And I suppose I should experience them more. I just told FWA and RJP and they disagreed. FWA said “Choosing to be in those situations is like selling your soul!” Yes! Repeated this conversation to Scott and he said, but you do need to learn how to deal with these situations. I suppose. Maybe I can find some middle ground?
It helped to talk with FWA and RJP and have them not only validate but bolster my assessment of the situation as not my fault. A thought: did the woman say more than Scheduled!, but all i heard was that part? I don’t think so.
Get Out Ice
The ice at Lake Nokomis is fraying at the edges. Will the lake ice be completely gone by the end of the month?!
Not to long after this happened I wondered: why didn’t she call out, person in the scheduled line or something with a bit more of an explanation.↩︎
