Amanda makes me want to be better---and her latest blog post explains why I want to write and what writing can do. Yesterday I was talking with Marcela about the poems you write because you have to and the poems for poetry audiences and the poems for your own friends and family and how often times these poems are not one and the same and never could be. Though Amanda seems to unify it all into something for us all---friends, family, strangers, all readers.
Something about her post speaks to something inside me---much in the way that Charlotte Kendrick songs do. Just saw her in concert and North of New York is a must cd for anyone---how someone can name something inside of you and just offer it to you without you knowing it was yours.
I would write something personal about Jonathan here, but I'm afraid. So I'll just say sometimes I just want to curl my arms and legs around him, but not in that way. In the way as if we were roots or potatoes, in the way of love being something not tangible that everything curls and sways in the dance of it. A memory of motion and semblance of holding.
I'm not yet at the heart of it. I'm trying to find my way back to a memory of who I was. Perhaps in Kent.
Outside is a storm. Frank is growling. In this way, I think we're sensing the same thing. I had been thinking of tears and now drops.
It's all coming down...