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 Philadelphia! 

Tuesday, May 21:

    

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 Chicagoland!  Thursday, May 23rd

  • What: Signing and discussion

  • Where: Aspen Drive Library, 701 Aspen Drive, Vernon Hills IL

  • When: Thursday, May 23rd, 7-8pm

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 Albuquerque, NM!  Thursday, June 20 

  • What: Discussion and signing

  • Where: Bookworks, 4022 Rio Grande NW, Albuquerque

  • When: TBA

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 New Jersey!  June 29th: 

  • What: Signing and Discussion

  • Where: Booktowne, 171 Main Street, Manasquan NJ

  • When: June 29th, 11 a.m. 

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 Philadelphia!  June 29

  • What: Signing and Discussion

  • Where: Towne Book Center, Collegeville

  • When: June 29th, 4 p.m.

June 30:

  • What: Cake Baking Class!

  • Where: COOK, Philadelphia

  • When: June 30, 2pm

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 Seattle! July 13 and 14 (Sat and Sun)

  • What: Urban Craft Uprising!

  • Where: Seattle Center, Seattle!

  • When: July 13 and 14, 11-5pm (I believe)

 

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Entries in poetry (1)

Thursday
Apr282011

Sweet Poem: Butter by Andrea Cohen

Dear readers: it is now time for me to share with you the most beautiful poem I have read, possibly ever, but definitely this week. It is entitled Butter and was written by a brilliant soul called Andrea Cohen. It's as if this poem was written for me, about me, to me, and from within me.

It was so motivating, actually, that I did the above illustration, inspired by it, and straight from my butter soul. Here is the poem:

Butter by Andrea Cohen

I’ve never seen the land
of milk and honey, but at

the Iowa State Fair I glimpsed
a cow fashioned of butter.

It lived behind a window
in an icy room, beneath klieg lights.

I filed past as one files
past a casket at a wake.

It was that sad: a butter cow
without a butter calf. Nearby I spied

a butter motorcycle, motorcycle-
sized, a mechanical afterthought

I thought the cow might have liked to ride.
You don’t drive a motorcycle; you ride it.

But not if you’re a butter cow, not
if you’re a butter cow who’s seen, if

not the land of milk and honey, the land
of milk, and dwelled within it.

It had a short life span, the butter cow.
Before it died, I looked

deep into its butter eyes. It saw
my butter soul. I could

have wept, or spread myself,
for nobody, across dry toast.

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