I finished my manuscript for the second MFA session two days ago--typed and proofed and worried and read aloud and paced and paced and twirled my chair in tight little pirouettes of panic, fretted and fretted and counted on my fingers (oh, Joe, I miss you)...Finally, I found four I didn't want to shred and sent 'em off.
Remembering Lamaze breathing and trying to calm myself into timing, which is everything and so close to timid...
These poems aren't so accomplished as my first semester's packet--but they're more me. Does that make any sense--well, it does to me, because I can write a safe little brown-paper-packages-tied-up-in-string poem easily ...but that poem will have little to do with me, or my life, or my interests, or my sanity (lack thereof), and hopefully these newer poems do.
I have a rhyming couplet poem in there, though--just in case you think I don't write those anymore. It's about flowers, patio furniture, and a former neighbor.
(UPDATE TO KENTUCKY LIST BELOW: All houseplants, from mother-in-law's tongue to cacti, are "flowers." Blooming is not the point, or maybe it is).
1 comment:
Can I see? : )
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