I come to the water by foxtail, oxtail, hawktail, tail of horse and beaver and lion. I come to the water because I know not what else to do to soothe the burning of my paws and claws, to soothe the burning of my joints, my heart.
I love my friend Stephanie. I’ve known her for almost three years now, and from the first, she was easy. Not in a promiscuous way, but in an easy people kind of way. Tomorrow morning, we’re going for a walk, and I’m looking forward to well, nothing in particular. How great is that?! Let me explain, and then let me get to that part where this connects to writing. Because it does,
While walking home from the grocery store today, I was feeling a little bedraggled. Heavy backpack on my tight shoulders, other bag clutched in my hand which was aching from typing/writing. Disgruntled with the rain. Disgruntled with some old heartaches that had dropped in unexpectedly for tea (and, as always, stayed too long, talked too much, passive aggressively indicated what was wrong with me, and didn’t help to clean up–punks). In any
where to go when you are stuck . . . So I emptied the packet into the mug, poured hot water onto it, and a poem sprang forth like a goddess from a skull. Or a dinosaur from a little capsule. Or a lightning bug from a jar. Let’s just say it was most like one of those things, and you get to decide which one. Or let’s say there
This weekend, I’m going on a writing retreat! That’s right–going on, not facilitating–and I’m feeling all aflutter about it. Aflutter seems appropriate, given that we’re in the midst of Metamorphosize 2012: The Year of the Badass Butterfly. Thank you so much for reading. You might notice that I don’t have a space for comments, but I’m certainly open to conversation about what’s written here. If you’re so inspired, feel free