Yes, it's true, it rains a lot in Washington--
Another wet Tuesday. The Northwest is Noah's stomping grounds this month. Rivers overflow, salmon escape to the roadways. I hardly recognize my neighbors under their hats. Occasionally, we find ourselves running from falling trees, the soil to wet to hold their roots. Ah, it must November! We just need one more good windstorm so I can pick up evergreen swags for my front door and the mantel.
Paper paper--
I'm finishing up a good first draft of my critical paper on contemporary women poets who use humor in their work. It feels good to be so far along. I want to finish it for one reason only-- it seems the left and right sides of brain don't work so well together. Yes, I haven't been writing poems. I haven't been revising poems. Poetry is my second cousin I don't see very much.
And I've tried. I wrote a few odd lines in a bookstore coffeeshop, but if you asked me how to begin a poem, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I'm not even sure I know where they live, they are a mysterious tribe somewhere in the mountains of Bhutan. They are nowhere near my desk and I will call for them soon. After the MLA guide has been tossed into the sea and my "work cited" list has become a paper airplane for fruitflies.
My Own Version of the Late Wife--
But I am thinking about poetry. I have the book LATE WIFE on my desk begging for me to open it. No. I'm holding out. My poetry books are my Sunday morning ritual--a fire, chai tea, my delicious toasty afghan wrapped around me. The white and green art glass lamp turned on. The light from the window on the pages of my book. Family members is various states of disarray. Golden retriever chasing the cat. Windstorm. Rainstorm. The world falling apart outside this neighborhood, but for the morning, it's quiet in my book. There could be thunder in the kitchen, shattering glass, an earthquake of drama, but it has better be good, a major catastrophe, a meteor aimed for our backyard, otherwise, you know where to find me. Book in hand. Warm fire. Cozy afghan. Favorite sofa.
