Dear Reader, it feels as if it's been months since my last confession, but only seven days. 7. I have little to confess, but will try to think of something. Try try try.
I confess wherever I visit is wherever I want to live. I was daydreaming about farm houses this weekend, about long windy roads and tractors. In my daydreams I wore overalls and flowered dresses and my hair was long, much longer than it is today. I confess the farmer part of me likes to sit on the porch and watch the dust slide across the road. I could live in house placed atop a prairie, I could live there and there and there.
I confess I was annoyed at the two men who walked out of a panel when the woman poet began talking about how it's been hard to balance writing poetry and being a mom. I don't feel anyone should have to stay at a panel that isn't interesting for them, but use your manners, there is always a break in the conversation and that's the perfect time to leave.
I made a point at the festival to tell the poets when I appreciated what they said or what they read. I realize so often many of us introverts tend to walk out without saying a word. I'm trying to make a point to say thank you more. And to offer a kind word when I have one to give.
Here's something I wrote in my notebook and didn't share with you:
There's never enough time to write, you need to find a place for it now.
I also wrote this:
A god swims through a garden
of dahlias determined not to
wince, hand-sews a fig leaf
to a statue, hides a cherub
beneath a lacy sweater.
I really have no idea what it means. The exercise was to take a word I used "agodon" "dad" and "swim" and make anagrams from those letters to use in your poem. I took an easier route, I just let the letters "inspire" words for me.
I realize that while I'd love to find a publisher for my second collection, I realized after the festival that it's poetry--both reading, writing, and listening to it that nurtures me. And while I enjoy publishing poems as it makes me feel part of the conversation, it's just the cherry on top. I actually enjoy the whole poetry sundae without or without that cherry.
It kind of surprised me. While I didn't find the *magic* that my first two festivals gave me, I found something else, a calmness, a thankfulness, a reminder of this greater connection poetry offers. And it sounds almost cheesy to use these words--nurture, connection, magic--but I can't think of a better way to say that my life is enriched because of other poets and my life is enriched because I write.