In an evening of healing, creativity and cleansing (and me making, baking and slightly burning — it had rice flour — a rhubarb crisp) at a new friend’s mountain chalet, I wrote this poem in response to a poem she wrote about my and my burnt rhubarb crisp. Her poem, “Rhubarb Crispier”, is at http://moonlightweb.wordpress.com/2010/05/13/rhubarb-crispier/.
Here is mine (the original had “your words” instead of “her words”:

I’ve stood, 4 years,/
doubting my craft, my mind,/
my soul, My heart./
Old words:/
Criticism still heard,/
still hurts./
Her words/
still the ache./
I’ll print them.