Haiti Inhabits my Old Kentucky Home

The transfer of power is complete in one Kentucky living room, as, indeed, a pair of Lexington lesbians took control of one Haitian shipping container, an over-sized metal box that moved in Friday morning, coughed its content on the lawn, and quickly left the scene.

Ultimately dishes, pots and pans were put away; paintings and iron sculptures made their way onto walls. 

An incredible scene of order and international diplomacy, as Lexington welcomed Haiti to its old Kentucky Home.  Even Donald Trump tried to take credit for this display of cooperation among the Americas.

Today a photographic tour of the event—

First, our house on 4th Street where the container arrived—my old Kentucky home:

The container lock is broken:

Sara and Ralph prepare for the unpacking:

The doors open:

The first box arrives on Sara and Kathy’s Lexington lawn:

It’s like Christmas as each box in unwrapped:

More and more boxes:

Eventually, art is unboxed:

Ralph gets in on the action–emphasis on action:

Lucy helps:

With the dogs’ help, eventually, it all gets moved indoors.  And art makes it up on walls:


More art on another wall:

Above the fireplace:

In the dining room, as well:

And even in the entrance way:

Now that we’ve about got things put away and in order, Sara will soon be reassigned to another international location, and we’ll start the process all over again in another month.

On the road again . . .

The Scarlet L(etter): the “L” Word Revisited

While on the faculty at Oral Roberts University, I wrote the following poem.  The year was 1988.  I had been teaching a women’s literature course, a senior seminar.  When I introduced feminist criticism, I used a text, which I then loaned to a student, a copy in which I had (scandalously) underlined the word “Lesbian.”  This female student took the book to the dean, in an effort to report my behavior (apparently unbecoming an ORU faculty member).  I was then called into the Dean of Women’s office to “discuss” the matter, where I was asked about my sexual orientation–I kid you not.  At the time I hadn’t discovered yet that I am, indeed, (blush, blush) a Lesbian.

In reading back over the poem, planning to discuss the incident with my now partner, I think to myself, “What kind of God-forsaken place was this!  It’s no wonder I subsequently had a nervous breakdown.”

I hope you’ll read the poem and tell me your thoughts on the matter.


i balance on the edge
of a yellow wing back
chair in a room that’s
clean and at odd angles
with a window and  
a view of roof
it’s easy to think
of her as an enemy—
the fat woman with stiff
hair across the desk
from me
we don’t want you to
feel like this is
a witch hunt, she says
but, of course, we both
know that it is—that
it’s me at stake, because
i’ve got a back that’s
made of bone,  because
i bleed
we don’t believe
in blood, she says,
we don’t believe
in bone.
(poem written 7 December 1988)