home again.

coming home from a poetry intensive is a mixed bag. relief that i'm again on familiar ground, with air conditioning. yet, missing, so missing the communion of poets. i can't explain it.

in texas, i was mostly the only poet around. at least around where i lived and dwelt. i would cross paths with them intentionally, never for more than a day.

here, they seem to be everywhere, but the contact is activity centered. we connect at reads and workshops. for which i'm grateful. but at an intensive, we sit together and commune for three days.

the black sheep finds the black sheep hangout, that is what it feels like.

we are similiarly wired. though all unique, writing in our peculiar styles with our peculiar preferences.

the last poem i wrote may never see the light of day. it took immense courage to read it aloud, but we grow to trust each other, with our tender vulnerabilities over the course of a weekend. and when i'd finished reading it, they said,

read it again.

and so i did.

i'm not sure what to say other than, it is nice to be home, but it is strange to be home. my feet are back on the ground. what i do is not done by anyone who lives with me or runs in my circles for the most part (certainly no one in three-d, to the extent that i do it). and i need these times apart with others.

one word in a poem read aloud was about the lady loving her scarlet letter.

do you really think Love is the right word?

in a sense, yes.

love involves a mutuality. there was no mutuality. she did not want or need them.

true.

perhaps, embrace. but not even that.

you're right. but she embellished it. displayed it.

how about pride.

yes, pride. pride is the right word.

the psychology of a woman is an intricate thing. and being with women to speak of these things was immensely refreshing. i cannot wait to do it again and again.

i love men. everyone knows that. but men cannot fathom the mind of a woman. some enlightened men can sort of, but never the way a woman can.

we women need to write for each other.

i love the works of men. but i need to read the works of women.

women poets, women novelists. women writers of all kinds.

your courage inspires mine. as i hope mine inspires yours.

it is good to be in my own chair, but i want more than this.