Just a quick post to say that I had the most magnificent day on Governor’s Island at the NYC Poetry Festival combining the three things I love the most: Family, Friends, and Writing.
I had the pleasure of reading some poems recently published in Newtown Literary Magazine and a new poem-in-progress—a currently crappily-titled poem for my husband (attached below after the pics).
I also got to hang with my boys, some of my closest friends and their kids, and I got to meet two new additions to our crew: sweet baby Rosa (pic below) and Charles, my friend Jen’s almost-husband. The consensus is that both are keepers. As if I needed MORE icing on my vanilla cupcake (a girl can dream), my awesome friend Nicole’s girls, Gabby and Nola, who came all the way up from DC, made some beautiful poetry of their own—also pictured below.
Thanks to the whole Newtown crew and to all my amazing people. Hearts, love, butterflies, and rainbows to you all!
An Ode to Husbands Everywhere (or maybe just mine)
Oh sweet you, my West Virginia baby
Trailer park-born gold
butt slapped with apprehensive belts
by your adoring Pageant Queen mama
I kiss your coal-coated mouth in the Upper East Side apartment of our youth
where I learn the proper pronunciation of things important to you like:
“Butthole Surfers” and “Appalachia” and “No, not Western Virginia”
When your dad gifts me a can
of ground possum at our first meeting,
I ask if he brought the white lightning,
And he chortles the kind of big-bellied laugh
my people make sails out of for epic journeys.
Hair: blonde midswept wheat
Jaw: wide-ranging like your hometown’s mountains
Smile: rare, but present in the face of sarcasm where it matters
Purpose: quiet, slow-moving, but gracious.
When your mom starts repeating herself,
you respond to every litany
as if it is her first iteration.
Then I knew I was safe
Then I knew it was you
And when every single time you leave the house,
you kiss my forehead and tell me you love me
even if I spent the previous night drilling
my Greek-American Queens-girl verbal rotary hammer
into your soft Appalachian belly
And when I hear you teaching our boys
How to be gentle when digging for worms
To never let a shoe graze an ant
And how to gently ease flies out of the house with a piece of paper
instead of a deadly swat
And when I watch you, Daddoo, not Daddy,
whistle as your prepare
Chicken and hotdogs and steak
as your lentils and tofu suffer on an adjacent burner
Then I know it’s always been you,
My West-by-God Virginia baby
Hefty morsel of strange sweet love.