April

April was writing a poem every single day for a full month whether I was home or traveling or somewhere between. It was giving myself permission to, as Natalie Goldberg advises, write the worst junk in the world. April was taking it one step further and “posting” all that imperfect writing on social media—those seeds of something bigger or greater. April was a visit to NYC to celebrate a poet I adore and meet up with writers I’ve been writing with for at least two years. Writers who geek out over style and caesura and questions like, Who was the most prominent of the Beat poets? Walt Whitman, surely Whitman. April was Italian food in Brooklyn because nothing speaks authenticity like pillowy homemade pasta and crispy calamari laced with fried artichoke hearts. Ask me about the olive oil. Grassy, herbaceous, divine. April was discovering the Brooklyn Poets Reading Room and sitting in that glorious space for two solid hours reading and writing and listening to music over cup after cup of milky sweet tea. April was purchasing the book Broken Land, Poems of Brooklyn, a gorgeous collection beginning with Sun-Down Poem by Walt Whitman and ending with a poem called After We Make Love. Imagine the grit and glory of Brooklyn streets pulsing between the covers of a poetry anthology. April was a deep dive into personal essay and myriad ways into memoir. April was extended hours at Meadowlark Gardens, the impossible beauty of bloom, spring becoming summer overnight—the wish to take flight.

This poem is in conversation with poet and colleague

Jessy Easton

who has been writing these monthly notes since, at least, August of 2023 and has inspired me to do the same.

And the beautiful poet I traveled to New York City to celebrate is

Joy Sullivan

who just published her debut poetry collection, already a national best seller: Instructions for Traveling West! I am completely enamored with this book. It reads like a memoir. The writing is honest and forthright but with a lyrical quality that has me read the poems over and over again, just to enjoy phrases like "cicadas roaring in splintered heat." You can find it right here.