This was the best part of AWP-Chicago.
But first: the Green Zebra, which was so good, it nearly became our namesake. I admit, my family (as in, my husband and I and our daughter, who is only fourteen months and therefore only participates because she's cheery like that) adores those snotty and snarky food shows and we're all, Um, layers of food? Why yes, I think the macaroni was boiling in some wa-ter.... Yes, you know that feeling? The What the hell are you talking about, food layers, mumbo jumbo? All I can say is this: Sweet holy fuck!, the Green Zebra has some serious layers. And by the way, I haven't been vegetarian in a half dozen years (but I went with some serious vegan slash gluten-free slash other food-no-thanks-ness folks and they were so content). We spent three hours there. Savoring.
We did, however, properly come up with a name: The Seven Stitches Poetry Collective. We are at work on a collaborative book--a book-length aubade, that is--
And here is a photograph of the four of us, minus me, taken in the lobby of the Essex Inn, where we had a difficult time pulling away from our conversation but someone's husband was texting from fifteen floors above, we won't mention whose, ah-hem--and a certain one had a husband whose job we all are hoping furiously finds a job in the Twin Cities (c'mon silly, strange fellowship!):
PS: The only photo of the four of us that I know of thus far?
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