What I'm reading: Security Mom by Juliette Kayyem. Landscape with Headless Mama by Jennifer Givhan. Poems and fiction in the journal Cherry Tree, which I highly recommend.
I've got stacks and stacks of books I really want to read and yet can't seem to successfully read one completely. I start reading a book, am enjoying it, and then hear about a book that sounds fantastic and go buy it on Amazon and then it sits in a pile in my house. I really don't see this changing any time soon, either. I annoy myself.
So I took an on-line course for the month of August and didn't do very well in it. I managed to write two poems out of the assigned four, and didn't comment nearly enough on the other participants' work. Fail. I think a weekly on-line course is as much time as I can commit to. I've gotten a slew of rejections, but many have been very kind, asking me to submit again. I also have a few acceptances which is also nice. I have three poems here at Border Crossing, which is filled with amazing poems and writing.
But I've started another Poem-A-Day group for September. I've been getting like four or five poems from these monthly spurts of poetry and then stop for various reasons. Which is something, I guess.
The Truth You Heard
The truth you heard is wrong, is happy-hung
absurd inside your dumb and rusty heart,
love-sick and goat-jaw at the seams, wet tongue
of God a quick surprise of stop and start
and does-not-care, and if inside the breath
on which you fall asleep a prayer abides
within your chest, the crusty shibboleth
of violent ends, of trust in smallish lies,
perhaps you start to doubt the stumbled halls
of dreams that render in dissolve, in mise
en scène of box inside of box, so small
and so serene. So, then, the lie: a tree,
a sin, a careless whim, a flesh of rain,
and so the world, the loss, the lovely pain.