Thursday, April 23, 2015
So many things have happened in the last, oh, nearly-a-year. I went quiet. I called it hibernation. I knit a lot, learned to spin, learned to dye yarn with things I foraged on the bluffs. I started watching M*A*S*H while I sewed together squares of horses and butterflies together for my daughter's quilt and tried to understand how I could be so hooked on a show that was so awfully sexist. I went on a poetry retreat with women poets living around Minnesota and was astounded by talent. I launched a few issues of Tinderbox and managed to love reading these poems while being incapable of writing any for myself. I met Claudia Rankine. I did a reading in a beer co-op and another with Maeve's reading series.
Not one day passed that I didn't think, Where oh where, for the love of all that's holy, where! have you gone?
I don't know why it hides and I don't know what the trigger to re-enter is. The last time, it was an email in which a mother was talking about discussing Joyce at the dinner table with her junior-in-high-school son. It made me think of myself, how I imagined a life full of books and reading and talking about reading.
This time, what could it have been-- AWP was approaching and then what? I was thinking about not even registering because my brain wasn't in the place it needed to be in. I knew I was reading for my press, but that was off-site. Something got me excited about language and now I am back, full-throttle, my needles in some basket, my books heftier in my brain.
I don't know why these selves cannot co-exist. But if I'm passionate about one, I'm all in, and the other collects dust. And while I love the fiber--the wool and the dye pots full of sumac--this is the realm I feel most content. So hello poems and essays and whatnot. I'm here to read you and maybe write a bit myself.
Posted by Molly at 11:18 PM