Broken but Buoyant

After the tragic suicide of our youngest child, David, at the age of thirty-four, I was navigating in a strange new world. I have always written and for years kept a journal. About a year after his death, I began to write a poem each morning. I imposed my own guidelines: write about whatever pops into my mind; it must fit onto one page of my journal; and no editing. I have used the title of the book to classify the poems into categories, as the boat becomes buoyant again after being broken....