Inspired by reading all sorts of good things and a recent call for a lyric-hybrid essay, I have begun writing something new. I'm never sure when a first draft becomes a second or third. I know it's young, but it's starting to feel awfully solid. I'd been calling it my (in)fertility m/essay, but I'm thinking about calling it drawing down the moon. I've got a few places in mind to send it, one in very-particular, but I'll keep that hush-hush so when it does find a home, that home won't get jealous of first crushes. I've been itching to write something that doesn't slide into genre very neatly and I'd been auditioning projects like some kind of manic monkey (something spiritual and freeing in Alaska! something witchy involving burning in the Appalachians!) (and those projects are still in the works but very much so toe-in-the-water) for a while. I feel a little heady about it. Perhaps I did this now because I'm bucking against that month-of-30/30-poems for Tupelo (which was hugely successful and I'll write about that soon and I'm so pleased about it) / (which was exhausting). I've already had one brilliant mind give it a read and I've since injected it with some goddesses and some celebration and about a thousand more words. (I'm counting words! That's not how poets do it!) All I know is I keep getting drawn back to this humble laptop to adjust some more. My poetry collective might knee me in the boobs if I don't stop emailing them revised versions.
Right now, I've finished: The First Flag and am reading: Iatrogenic: Their Testimonies. My brain is rattling its cage.