I watched the new Mary Oliver documentary, and there was the inevitable moment, after the death of Molly Malone, where the new wife arrived, and was slagged by Mary’s old friends. I wanted to write a poem for her.
What do I want with me at work? A notebook. A kindle. A simple lunch. Water. A log in for PBS and criterion. Quiet between calls. A way to be bored. Boredom is good for a poet.
Sometimes Gus yowls at me in the morning to join him in the office, and I do and I write a poem and share it and feel better about the world, and if that isn’t love I don’t know what is. That sweet cat knows me better than myself sometimes. Or he just wants me to see the crows who are bothering him.
I’m a pretty good poet.
One of my favorite nights of the year!!!
Relevant call out, from an article on my RSS feed this morning.
The post to bsky experiment seems to be giving me bad habits in thoughts again. But I like the people here: trans writers. Camera obsessed friends.