in honor of liz’s request (what’s up liz) over at we are creatures
i’m following a few threads that she tossed out there todaythey are neatly numbered
1. Something I am missing:
a. cougar canyon.
in the tent after dark, wake with the sun, watch the moon climb up over the ridge.
space to ramble and explore.
hike conversations and hike silences.
the significance of water where it is rare.
b. every ex-lover.
not necessarily that i want to be with them again. it is not a pining. and perhaps not even a missing.
it is more of that they are still here and i am still here but we are in our own orbits now.
this might mean that i miss bruises blooming, aches the next day that tell the story of the day/eve before.
this might mean i also miss being witnessed.
this might mean i also miss gratifying collaborationship. threading someone else into my layers and someone else doing the same. a convergence of forces. a confluence of brilliance.
(but i was also thinking on my bike ride today, that there is a kindof safety in endings. that when i imagine lover/date relationships, i don’t imagine ones that blur off into forever.)
still trying to make a lover out of letters and words.
2. A quiet truth:
i often like the poets more than i like their poems.
or, i often like their poems only after i have met the poets and heard their poems in their voice/seen the poems in their body.
(in other words, lots of contemporary/experimental work doesn’t engage me on the page.)
3. Something exciting:
is it possible there is anything exciting in one’s last quarter of grad school?
it’s hard to feel excited when there are so many maybe’s.
and that i’m not the one declaring the maybes, but all the places i have sent submissions or apps off to are.
also, the possibility of instructing this workshop (being elbow deep in community writing once again) is pretty exciting. not only that, but that one of my professors who knows about the carved out space in me called missing writing in community thought of me when she saw this in her inbox and sent it my way.
also, that there might be a room waiting for me in missouri under a dome of stars.
4. Something else:
living with someone who works in the bakery at whole foods is like living with santa. we never know what sweet surprises we may find in the morning.
5. A book:
i am re-committing to reading. not that i have time to. but i have owned ‘growing vegetables west of the cascades’ by steve solomon since i farmed in portland in 2001, and i know i have read bits of it here and there, but i have set it in my bathroom so that i will pick it up there and read at least one page a day.
what does it mean that i am learning to do this all over again? pick up a book and actually read it instead of skimming for content to bring to class discussion. what does it mean that the internet stole my attention span?
this song. only it’s me with a guitar and a chord/lyric sheet. trying to get each lilt right. adding my own chords where i see fit. getting tired of the chorus and intrigued by everything else. calloused fingers. paperclip for a pick. wondering who can hear my voice through the windows/walls. considering a garage band remix. wanting to memorize it all. which reminds me of, as well as starting to read again [or at least saying i’m committing to it], a poet who memorized a poem a day. i want to memorize poems. this also reminds me of how paul said that people memorized poems in czechoslovakia because if they were found with the books, they would be killed. these poems kept alive in heads and hearts and spoken in whispers so that others may carry the stanzas. i know other countries/poems/stories/wars like that too. that. THAT. is poetry.
the spray of mist/rain on my face. when i come home and check the mirror, i am glowing. it’s a pacific northwest forest face here in san diego on the rare occasion that a cloud decides to come down and touch us.
A favor (asked by liz):
Please apply to your own life and answer 1-7 below in the comments section. Orrr- on your own blogs? So I can see?