Another Poem up on Rattle: Poets Respond
To wish you a happy Thanksgiving-- a restful few days that, in the historic picture, commemorate the brutal theft of land and life from indigenous people, and in the modern sense, designates time to be full of sweet potatoes and pie-- I've got a picture of Happy in the basket of clean napkins before our tofurkey feast:
...and a rare sighting of me and two of my sisters in the same room, who may or may not want to be identified as relatives:
...and I've got a poem up on Rattle's Poets Respond page. Tim Green, the editor, has contributors write a blurb to post below the poem, something to add to the experience of reading it, something to tell readers what inspired the poem specifically in that week's news. Here's the blurb:
“A third of Americans dread political talk at Thanksgiving, but the past year has made me feel—strangely—more grateful and angry than I’ve ever been. I can’t stop seeing my country as a place prepared for our daughters, prepared for all those who have yet to claim their voices. I am worried. I am angry, and I’ve spent every day since the 2016 election acknowledging this and trying to heal, trying to protect those around me and acknowledge them. Maybe this is what it means to age. Maybe this is what it means to listen and hear. In either case, I wasn’t asked to say what I’m thankful for at the table this year. It was a very pleasant dinner.”
Fair warning (Mom and Grandma K), it's a poem about my pussy that's not really about my pussy. Love to you all, and thanks for reading.
Abby
...and a rare sighting of me and two of my sisters in the same room, who may or may not want to be identified as relatives:
...and I've got a poem up on Rattle's Poets Respond page. Tim Green, the editor, has contributors write a blurb to post below the poem, something to add to the experience of reading it, something to tell readers what inspired the poem specifically in that week's news. Here's the blurb:
“A third of Americans dread political talk at Thanksgiving, but the past year has made me feel—strangely—more grateful and angry than I’ve ever been. I can’t stop seeing my country as a place prepared for our daughters, prepared for all those who have yet to claim their voices. I am worried. I am angry, and I’ve spent every day since the 2016 election acknowledging this and trying to heal, trying to protect those around me and acknowledge them. Maybe this is what it means to age. Maybe this is what it means to listen and hear. In either case, I wasn’t asked to say what I’m thankful for at the table this year. It was a very pleasant dinner.”
Fair warning (Mom and Grandma K), it's a poem about my pussy that's not really about my pussy. Love to you all, and thanks for reading.
Abby
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