Welcome To My Bed

Today is a threshold.

The world has been a wily place lately, but as the dust settles, I can share a string of fabulous news.

Last week's poetry day was a massive success.  I've already been invited back to do another next year during poetry month.  The kids asked some tough questions, which I wasn't properly expecting, but I think we carried off the discussions well and got them to think about poems in a very different light.  A lot of the talking after our presentations centered around music--how songs are the way poetry lives in our world and touches us on a daily basis.  This obviously led to discussions of various hip hop artists and corresponding poets that might help bridge the gap for a music appreciator who's curious about where poems fit into their life.  Two girls stayed after one of the sessions to grill me about what I do to keep from deleting my first drafts and how I keep from getting discouraged when sending out submissions.  I lauded the power of the page break when making revisions (and using long-hand as a stand-by, since you can't delete when it's paper and ink), as well as sites like Duotrope, which are invaluable when it comes to finding out where your work might fit and keeping track of submissions.

All said and done, I surprised myself with how well I managed a day of teaching.  I often forget that all my performance experience translates to other kinds of speaking engagements.  Even my interviews have gotten infinitely better.  Speaking of which, I interviewed for a new job on Wednesday.  A real one this time.  It's too early to say for sure, but according to some insider info from my office spies, I did fabulously and have nothing to worry about.  Cheers to an impending change of industry!

Finally, I found an apartment.  At long last, I'm moving to Somerville on May 1st.  We found a cozy two-bedroom with massive closets and plenty of space for our epic collection of books.  Less than three weeks until the big day.  I've been shopping for the perfect dishes all morning and daydreaming about long evenings painting and writing in our workroom.  Jamie showed me an excellently curated furniture store just down the block from where we'll be moving, and knowing it's there is only adding to my frenzy over rattan lampshades and red lacquer bookcases and finding the perfect record player and a host of gems I've got coming my way from my uncle's storage unit that he needs help emptying.

There is nothing more exciting that an avalanche of positive change.  Except keeping up with writing a poem a day for National Poetry Month, and possibly winning Madonna tickets from Spotify...

What I think about when it is summer in March.

The birds woke me up before the sun did.  My street has this strange way about, like a radio dial is being turned and turned, never resting on a station for more than a moment.  I've gotten excellent at recognizing songs in a single heart beat.  I am also terrific at sleeping through all that white noise.  But the birds.  They are a new addition to the soundscape.  My neighbors let their children out into the yard long before the school bus and they play like dogs, yapping and fighting and speaking nonsense.  In a month, I'll be gone from here.  New apartment.  New, strange heat to take in through the open window.

Today is.


Morning with a favorite. Still under the blankets. All I can think of are birds. Petah Coyne's dead, still birds. The giant hanging masses of ash. Chandeliers of dead things. Flowers made of wax. Sol LeWitt's math, all of his chalk and crayon on the walls. Grids of planning. Now, take away the grid. Peel back the mask. What do you see? What will be left when the lines that propped up your words are stripped away? Can you stand on your own?

I am digging through the manuscript of the first, the only, year I did 365. So many new poems will come of this. Mass MoCA is still stewing in my head. Even frozen feathers make me think of movement. I've seen dead birds in the gutter and expected them to dust off the grit and maggots, take flight like nothing was ever wrong.