I’ve tried to shake the habit, honestly I have. But I just can’t help myself. The poems wiggle their way into my consciousness, or spill out of me like an overturned bucket of words.
Poems are tendrils that coil between strangers: weaving secret, precise, intimate connections.
One of Mine
This is my first published poem, and I couldn’t have chosen a better place for my work. I even got to celebrate by reading at the launch event for this issue.
Go to Little Patuxent Review.
I dug up an old poem that was published in my high school literary magazine.
Paging through even older journals, I was surprised by how many poems I wrote in elementary school. I guess my love of poetry goes way back!
Did you write poetry as a kid?
I’d love to hear about your childhood poems. Tell me your stories here.
If you like poetry, and you ever find yourself doubting its value, try reading Jane Hirshfield’s Ten Windows. The prose is almost as dense as poetry, so take your time. It is so worth it. Here’s a taste:
“It’s the inability to be known or explicated completely that infuses aliveness into good poems—they become…houses with a secret room at the center, the place in which all that cannot be paraphrased is stored…And in truth, the unopenable room does not reside in the outward data of the world, or in the words of the poem: it resides in us.”
Jane Hirshfield, Ten Windows: How Great Poems Transform the World
Hope you enjoy a poem today