For a long time couldn’t find my voice. Until challenged to write a poem from a line in a tweet, “robe me in poetry” I threw out as a quip to a friend’s remark. Fascinated with the words emerging, I played until my sonnet “Robe Me in Poetry” lay on the page, bare and vulnerable. I had written a few others, but until that sonnet I didn’t realize the power or emotion my imagery could evoke. Perhaps it doesn’t for others; I don’t mind. For me, though, I tingle, cry, laugh, sigh, ache, and float along with the words. Although prose has been my favored writing, poetry occupies that space. At least for now.
Born in the MidWest (a distant, vague memory), but moved to California by my folks at age five, I never fit into the Southern California puzzle. But here I still am, longing for an older world, something ancient where the earth reaches up to grab my ankles and pull me under to reveal all its secrets. I’ve traveled a little bit, after having lived in the south of France for a year, Virginia, and further inland where my skin screamed for the more humid air near the coast. Perhaps I’ll find my true home some day. I hope so. Until then, I’ll teach, write, be mama to my kids, one of whom is already full grown, and learn. I’ll always learn. Right now, I’m learning how to fly.
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