I'm finishing up a good first draft of my critical paper on contemporary women poets who use humor in their work. It feels good to be so far along. I want to finish it for one reason only-- it seems the left and right sides of my brain don't work so well together. No, I haven't been writing poems. I haven't been revising poems. Poetry is the second cousin I don't see very much.
And I've tried. I wrote a few odd lines in a bookstore coffeeshop, but if you asked me how to begin a poem, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I'm not even sure I know where they live. Perhaps, they are a mysterious tribe somewhere in the mountains of Bhutan. They are nowhere near my desk. ButI will call for them soon. After the MLA guide has been tossed into the sea and my "work cited" list has become a paper airplane for fruitflies.