After a long year, it was time to leave the house, and I knew where I was headed. To those early places of sand and sea.
I watched a tug crossing the Coos Bay Bar. Sat on the same jetty I climbed on as a young girl. Found comfort in the smell of ocean. The wind blowing my hair. Remembered bits of a poem by John Masefield called Sea-Fever.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day and white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the the sea-gulls crying.
It has been a long 15 months—a sitting on the knife’s edge of coming and going.
But I am one of the lucky ones, who has been lucky enough to walk the beach again, grow a garden, give peas to the neighbors, bouquets of flowers to the bedroom, create one small patch in the middle of a changing city, where bees, hummingbirds, and scrub jays, can find a place to land.
Just imagine if moving forward we could all find one small thing that would show this stressed planet how much we love being here and how much we long to stay. What if we wore amulets of sea water around our necks to remind us what holiness is?
Editors, Sandra Kleven and Michael Burwell not only publish a beautiful, inclusive journal, but they have created a Cirque community that is still as important to me today as it was when I first began publishing with them.
Poet friends, consider submitting your best work to Cirque. Lovers of poetry, consider purchasing a copy of this journal to help support this fine publication.
I am honored to share that my poem “In Like a Lion” has been included in the Oregon Poetry Association 2020 Anthology of Pandemic Poems. This is a stunning collection of poetry written by Oregon poets as witness to these times. It is a document that will have both significant historical value regarding the event itself and the writers in this place who have shared their poetic response to it.
I urge you to consider purchasing a copy of this anthology either through Submittable or Wild Apricot. All the proceeds will go to continued funding for the Oregon Poetry Association. If you love poets, or if you just want a record of this year told through the words of Oregon State poets, I encourage you to buy a copy.
In so many ways my thoughts of this year will probably not be completely known until more time has passed. It has been such a difficult time for so many, especially to those who have lost people to Covid-19. I have been privileged to have a warm home to live in, food to eat, health care. I have had the privilege to reflect during this time, to think about how I would like to contribute to the world in a way that helps those less able to have the basic needs of life. And frankly, I have no desire to return to “Normal”, for it was with the slowing down, the staying put, that helped me see how much happiness could be found in my own home, my small block, my changing neighborhood. There have been things I have missed, like live music, poetry readings, coffee shops, going to dinner with friends, and I look forward to doing them again. But I have changed, and these days I wonder what I will find when I re-enter the world and will I belong?
NOTE: Due to circumstances beyond everyone’s control, this month’s reading will take place over Zoom. Email firstname.lastname@example.org by no later than 3 pm on June 11 to indicate your interest in participating. In the subject line, let us know if you are “Reading” or “Just Listening.” You will receive instructions for how to join the […]
I am so delighted to be reading for Ghost Town Poetry on June 11. This is my first zoom poetry reading, and I expect to read for 10 to 12 minutes. I hope some of you will follow the link above and join us.
Thanks again to Christopher Luna, poet and advocate of the arts for inviting me to read. And while these are unusual times I find hope that we are still able to find ways to share our words together.
Surfacing to have even an ocean’s chance of swimming in that phosphorescent glow you know is your center the one that too often slips out between your legs like silky kelp or the men you love but cannot hold onto attach yourself like a barnacle to the belly of a whale— dive deep into saltwater […]