… you realize holy smokes that went fast, so
… you stop worrying about a lot of things, not least of which is that your bed hasn’t been made in a week, and
… you start doing the things you’ve been telling yourself you’ll get to “someday,” and
… you stop spending time with people who drain you, and
… you decline to make clam chowder for 5th grade colonial days regardless of the social fallout, and
… you know how lucky you are to still have your kids and your parents around, and
… you remember her, that girl you were back then, before anything ever happened to you.
I’m 41 now, but I’m very thrilled to join the lineup at a great new journal, Heron Tree, where my poem “At Forty I Remember Her” appears this week. This poem began on a borrowed line (which I eventually revised my way out of) from my friend Cintia Santana, who wrote a draft called, “At Forty I Dream of Home.” So, a big thanks to Cintia for the inspiration, and to the editors at Heron Tree for selecting this poem.
Heron Tree‘s tagline is “poetry online & bound annually.” They post a poem each week on their website, then produce a print journal that includes all the poems posted online for that year. I just received my print copies of Heron Tree 1, and it’s a beautiful journal: spare but elegant, and full of poems I’m ready to read and study again and again. They’re open for submissions now: submit here.
Thanks, 40, for all you teach us. Thanks, Heron Tree, for the poems you put out in the world. Thanks, Reader, for reading. Have a great week.