… someone you grew up with and was your mother is not easy. Shänne Sands died in 2016 and up to this year I was drawing around the edges, taking snippets here and there from letters and what i know and of course, her poems and diaries.
But I couldn’t take too much at one time. A few minutes became half an hour and slowly I have almost 100 pages. It hurt too much. The thoughts and work that is so magnificent and the tawdry treatment by men and her family. But this book has to be written even if I am emotionally drained by doing so.
The Wandering Poet will be completed.