October

According to my mentor from NMU, talented poet Austin Hummell, October's the month to write. While under his tutelage, I didn't always feel like writing in October, but this year, I want to write my ass off. This is complicated, of course, since I'm supposed to be reading for comps. But! That said, I'm excited to feel the writing itch again. It's been a bit. Just as it's been a semi-slow year for me in terms of production, it's been a somewhat slow year in terms of publication (makes sense, I know), so to have a few poems picked up recently makes up for the time I can't spend writing while also reassuring me about the trajectory of my new work. One of the pieces I wrote earlier in my stint here at Utah was accepted by Ninth Letter, and the other--a pretty new poem that belongs in the group of strangers that are waiting to take shape in book number two--was picked up by Anti-.  So grateful to those editors.

And to editors past. I'm feeling nostalgic this week and linking to poems from a few years ago, which feels like a different life to me now. But from where I'm sitting now

(looking up from my reading-recliner-corner to find Nayda watching me), I'm reminded of Grove Street and my daily drive up its hill that led to my cabin in the woods. At that time in October, in the UP, both sides of the road seemed to be burning (you don't realize how colorful it is in the Northwoods until you're in the high desert, really) and I remember thinking how lovely was that death. And there were other deaths then, too, but this death--autumn--could be so beautiful because there was the knowing (or the hope) that there'd be life--or green--again. During that October, different deaths and different hopes led to this poem, which I'm reminded of now for myriad reasons.

As I'm sitting here in my chair, three years later, I know that the next time I see green on that yellowing tree, I'll have taken my exams, for better or worse, and almost all of my free time between now and then--when I'm not blogging to procrastinate--will be spent in this recliner, with this spoiled purrball using me for my heat.

And every time I get up for tea or something, I'll come back to this:

Look at you all jealous of my sexy, sexy life. Right? So, I have 200 days to read 100 books, which means I'll be hunkering down and will likely be out of radio contact for a bit. Please please please, send me all your good vibes.

xo,
LF