poem a day

In the spirit of morning pages, of consistent practice, of writing your way out of block, a new poetry friend, Jen Johnson, and I are embarking on the poem-a-day project so many of my other poetry friends have already taken on. Stephanie and Laressa; Eireann and Shana. And now, Molly and Jen. Each day, little treasures in the mail: a poem, written in the twenty four hours that is today, and in return, encouragement, randomly scattered prompts, and a quiet audience. This is not for critique; this is for methodical practice. This is so our singular poems do not go into a void.

I love the image Stephanie creates of her daily poem: she prints it out, hangs in somewhere, to dry, before she sends it off to Laressa. The poem exists, meditates, prepares itself to move on.

In other exciting news, I will contribute a review to CutBank's poetry blog. This will be a first for me--a review that counts more than the space of my own blog, where each word matters, and I will live and breathe a book, as what I will say goes beyond the flippant reaction of a singular reader. I want to do well by this magazine and by the poet--honesty, consideration, interpretation.

Happy Wednesday, all. Tomorrow, a prompt, and more on a cold dissipating. (Sleeping through the night, no waking up in confusion, staring at the clock and into the darkness, my nose a snaked faucet, desperate for relief.)