I noticed that Sal and I were following the low slants of light around the house this morning, and yesterday, in the bright, white, woods. I see many of you sharing photos of sunrises today, even wearing short sleeves outside, and it’s nice to feel us all together, under the sun.
I’ll be sending out Appetites once, weekly, going forward, but I wanted to say a quick thank you, now, while I’m warm with it.
I had a hunch that starting this newsletter would be good for me, and if a few people came along, even better. I did not expect to be overcome with this camaraderie. Having this new, open space, with people who have chosen to be here with me, is affecting me not just in spirit, but corporeally.
I can already hear myself sounding more like myself, in longer paragraphs, unwrapped.
This is a gift you’ve given me -
more time in this short life with myself, as myself.
I’m waking up earlier, I’m completing thoughts, my peripheral vision has widened, my palette enlarged - these are not abstractions. Thank You.
Here’s a poem I wrote this morning, and a reading of an older poem, with the same light, “The Gravity of Deer”, written under the influence of these things that affect us all, together - light, gravity, and time.
Light, finally
is as real as the night has been.
Something you might walk into
like a wall, but warmer
and I know it's not a trick
like the shadows I've been tripping on
because my dog goes into the yard
just to stand there
like a horse in a pasture
and when I touch her, she's an ember in the palm.
It's finding our cracks, it sees through our skins
It's even snuck into the pantry
and taken the onion by the hand.
Oh, and how does one salvage a bag of sprouting onions? Jam? Send help.
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