if you wonder what I was thinking — a review of my own poetry collection
This is all about pandemic resistance. It’s about not losing my mind as 2020 dragged me closer to the abyss.
I was already processing several losses, including myself, my marriage, the husband that didn’t quite work right, the rebound romance that never manifested.
I woke up enough to understand that I live in a magical place. My landlords were sheltering elsewhere and I was left caretaker of this apse-in-the-woods. Deer congregate here safely; great horned owls migrate through the territory of barred owls (I hear their negotiations) and foxes raise their families up the hill behind my cottage. I’m constantly under the watchful eye of catbirds, who are still pissed at me for cutting down a nest two springs ago. I apologized, knees and forehead to the ground, but they’re mistrustful. I’ve been bribing the crows with oranges and cat food, but they’ve yet to bring me gifts.
Right before the pandemic hit in force, I had my first ever solo art exhibit. I put together a chapbook that featured my own art. My mentor, Peter Kidd, died in June of 2020, taking air out of my lungs. Restaurants, museums, and other venues shut down; there was no place to apply for another exhibit.
Poetry has always been an escape valve for me. It’s a quick dopamine fix, a hit of closure where the better sources are unavailable. Pete taught me “first words, best words,” and I found his tutelage useful. Every morning I took my coffee out to talk with the crows, measure the overgrowth of fox grapes and trumpet vine, decide what grows and what dies. As I executed yardwork, rhythms came into my mind and left in the shape of poetry. Some of these pieces caused me to stop mowing, come in and write, and go back to the yard.
If you feel a certain peace in reading mycelium., it’s my slow exhale. Pieces like ‘weekends’ and ‘hallows’ are me processing a very old and tragic love. With all of life out of the way, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. ‘functional love’ is a true story of a dream — they’re all true stories, every one.
Make a cup of coffee or tea and have a walk around. I hope you like it here.
