The End of the World

But here in the calm latitudes of this room
I am thinking that the end could be less operatic.
Maybe a black tarpaulin, a kind of boat cover,
could be lowered over the universe one night.
A hand could enter the picture and crumple the cosmos
into a ball of paper and hook it into a waste basket.
A gigantic door might close. A horrible bell could ring.
We could have fire, ice, bang, and whimper all at once.

— Excerpt from one of the poems from The Art of Drowning

Inside Sheryl Crow’s Country Home


If Kennett, Missouri, (my home town) has a claim to fame it’s Sheryl Crow. Says so on the “Welcome to Kennett” signs on each end of town. I’m 14 years older than Ms. Crow so we weren’t in school at the same time. I was more familiar with her folks. They lived just down the street (rectangle) from where I grew up.

If you liked her before, you’ll love her even more after touring her home.