I was just rereading "Poem Read at Joan Mitchell's" and I was thinking about how much I miss

my art history classes, how much I miss my Poets and Painters class, how much I miss talking about literature, and the nuance of a corner of verse, but more than that, I miss the whirring happiness that these things--when mingled together, unfiltered, allowed to ossify and collapse--bring me.

I brought Jane Eyre home over Christmas. I'd like to find myself there. And here, in a painting by Joan Mitchell, my favorite female painter, if not favorite painter in all.

"we peer into the future and see you happy, and hope that is a sign that we will be happy too."