cradle

there is a house
in my imagination
strong enough to cradle all
this light in my belly
close enough, soft enough
to rock me when i stumble
indoors exhausted
from flinging rays out of me
bathing in its glow
as much world
as i can reach
& when i think of
this shack
this palace
this lean-to
firm-standing & wide open
as me
i weep
or either don’t
as often in God’s work
i am too tired
for tears

why 19 poems?

my favorite number is 19. that’s a random factoid, not an answer. all right.

i have a problem with dwelling on things.

one of my professors told me during my mfa days that it’s sometimes necessary to “write through” whatever your mind keeps obsessing about. can’t stop thinking about your mother? write mother poems. just write tons of mother poems until you’re sick of them and cannot bear to write another one.

i took that advice. i started using the arbitrary (though inexplicably loved) number 19 to (attempt to) cure my dwelling habit. “oh, you’re dwelling on that one sad experience from when you were five? write 19 poems about it.”

which, of course, i never can.

so 19, for me, has come to represent getting real and moving on.

that’s what i’ve decided. like, just now.