Three poems of mine,
"We're always in a room." "A Bullish Run into Chambers" and "A Territory of the Miracle" are in
Fringe Magazine's Issue 26, on maps.
"We're always in a room." came about because I always
was in a room, in my dreams, until I wasn't. And why not? I love rooms. They're nesting places and remind me of framed narratives (such as
The Decameron or
The Arabian Nights--stories within larger stories).
"A Bullish Run into Chambers" was a response to a comment I read and disagreed with--about the phenonenon of those public flower homages to honor the dead we may not know, schoolchildren or John Jr. The comment I disagreed with insisted such tributes are shallow. I say they are not shallow.
And finally, "A Territory of the Miracle" was born in Seattle, best as I can remember, making it a long-termer of a poem. I absolutely remember the image I had, of a figure rising from a bog, and my understanding it offered, or wanted, connection.
Also, I just remembered having returned from my mother's terrible operation in Los Angeles. I remember thinking about It All and wondering if there was reason to live through any more and then watching a dust mote, as I lay in bed, living in a ray of sun. I remember understanding that was enough.
Thanks to
Fringe Poetry Editor, Anna Lena Phillips, for having a sharp eye and access to a front porch.
