wordless wednesday, not exactly: Bad Mood, Baker Beach

Happening now on my (temporary) kitchen cupboard:

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Because we need poems for the bad mood days. This one has been keeping me sane all week.

[Also, please someone tell Mom: BP O’s her $25. We need chocolate milk, ribbons for pointe shoes, cashews, peanut butter, Grape-nuts, spoons (??what??) and scrapers for the cars. Someone also remind her: Just do the next right thing.]

The poem is by Tracey Knapp, who I heard read a couple weeks ago at my friendly neighborhood independent bookstore. She read from her book, Mouthwhich is full of utterly hilarious and altogether heart-wrenching poems. If you’ve ever wanted to learn about how to execute humor in poetry, and especially humor alongside tender-heartedness, this book is a must-read. Or if you just need a good laugh-cry.

If you don’t want to have to squint to read the poem in the photo above (and I cannot blame you), here it is.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Baker Beach, it’s on the very northern edge of San Fransisco, in sight of the Golden Gate Bridge. A singular location.

Friday is finally, actually-factually, MOVING DAY. Although it feels surreal, we will soon live in a house again. I will have my stuff. And by “my stuff” I mean: my books, my dictionaries (which are a class of “book” all their own), my desk, my two favorite kitchen knives, my flannel shirts and pajamas. Socks by the dozen. Scissors. Tea kettle. Gaston Bachelard.

In other words, you may not hear from me for a bit. Meanwhile, write on!

 

 

 

 

 

today

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my “desk” (once again, it’s a kitchen table)

I am at my “desk.” The kids are at school all day. This miracle last occurred on June 3rd.

I am so happy that three out of three kids came home from school yesterday with smiles on their faces (it was the first day, a half-day).

We are still not living in a house. The duffle bags and their contents, which I thought would need to get us through until mid-July, are going to have to limp along until mid-October. At least.

(Do you know of this book?

I love the book. I do not love not living in a house.)

I have bought duplicates of:

  • More books than I want to think about (sometimes you just need Zbigneiw Herbert, …and… some other books)
  • A chef’s knife
  • MANY OFFICE SUPPLIES. Many.
  • A printer
  • A broom, a rake, a bucket, sponges, scrubbers, rubber gloves

I am *this* close to buying a duplicate Swiffer. I am even tempted by the crock pots of the world, but I refuse. I refuse.

The peaches are ripe. The plums are ripe. The tomatoes are at their peak. You can often find me holding my head over the sink, eating some drippy, delectable fruit of the earth. Bliss.

I hope no one ever looks through  my books and reads my marginalia. “Bzzzt” means: I disagree. Entirely. “Bwhahahaha!” means: I can’t even believe he said that. “ZOMG!” means: Utterly incredible. In a good way.

There are two flies—one big, one small—buzzing around my head. I am, of course, thinking of Emily Dickinson. And wondering why there is no fly emoticon.

I keep reading this poem*:

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[*Please note how he borrows from Emily Dickinson: From her letters, “This world is just a little place, just the red in the sky, before the sun rises, so let us keep fast hold of hands, that when the birds begin, none of us be missing.”]

And I keep reading this poem.

And I keep reading this poem.

And Joanna Klink’s poem “On Diminishment” from the current issue of Tin House. Go get you some. The poem worth the cover price.

And this poem, mainly because my eldest is playing football. I am surprised by this. He has football homework every night. I am also surprised by this. I am formulating a theory about high school athletics and the roots of male privilege (I am not surprised by this, and I am complicit). There’s a game at 4:30. Weather forecast: 88 degrees and stormy. I now own ponchos. I am, you might guess, surprised by this.

I’ve been writing, mornings. I’ve been sending poems out. I’ve been doing both things slowly, as usual.

I’ve been typing up notes from my MFA residency. It’s like learning everything all over again.

I have nearly killed the geraniums I bought a month ago. I am not yet ready to commit to mums. I abhor everything pumpkin spice.

I am glad to be here at this blog, writing something, anything.

I am trying to do this thing called “today,” every day, the best I can.