No Draft: There’s Hope for Saturday, Though

44º ~ the saddest drizzle ever, one more day of shivery temps and then perhaps, perhaps, a wee glimpse of spring before Arkansas runs headfirst into heat & humidity

T.S. Eliot and I are not friends.  I can tolerate Prufrock, although I find myself hearing his voice now as a whine rather than a lament.  I dutifully read and annotated The Waste Land and probably learned a lot I should be thankful for, although the memory of the work still reeks with the scent of heavy labor with little pay off for me.  Judge me not.  I’m a firm believer that we all find our poetry kin in different places.

All this to say that this week, I really do believe this (the opening of said Waste Land):

I knew it would be a tough month, but an unexpected disappointment has added to the difficulty of April.

~~~~~

On another poetry note, it turns out that if one stops submitting poems, one stops receiving acceptances (and rejections).  So, two sides of the coin go missing at once.

~~~~~

And because she is my hero, here’s a recording of Lucille Clifton reading her untitled poem “won’t you celebrate with me,” a poem I’ve tried to adopt as my own personal theme song.