I stitched this thing while I was listening to panels at #awp2014 I like this new hobby. Sending it to @durjayadoesntego and @sharaflea in gratitude for letting me stay with them in Seattle and for being so damn inspiring.
Remember when we cuddled on the log surrounded by
trees we did not own, a pocket of city we stumbled upon,
because we walked for once? I read you poems
from the scientist, you were so impressed by my
ability to pronounce the French words. I felt smart.
I am reading Lucille Clifton on a couch in Texas with the
window open. There is a day care across the street. Children
shriek in all the best parts of the poem. The sun strokes
the page like a highlighter. My body is wearing it’s best face.
My freckles rush to the party. This is all I ever want.
I want to move here, like I want to move every place where
I feel present. I want to move to this presence.
It’s hard to think when you are cold. Yesterday I had to dig
my car out of the snow in New England. Now everyone
is wearing shorts & eating tacos at yellow picnic tables.
Maps are so small. I get to eat in so many time zones. This
year, I want to be intentional about things. Consume politics
through poetry. More potlucks than bars. Take a shovel
to the lake of my deepest loves.
Remember when I didn’t think writing was a selfish fancy?
When I knew it was a thing. Like moving pots into the sun.
I used to sit for hours moving the the. Maybe writing needed a winter.
It needed to be a beach motel in hurricane season,
a pastel strip mall full of palm tree t-shirts. Writing knows
we always come back.