touchdown

when my feet return to earth, i wonder at the time it takes to acclimate. the heaviness of my body, the pull of gravity holds me where once i flew, drifted from whim to whim on words and so much poetry.

just in from my intensive, ready to trade in the pen for a cash register as i'm headed to the mall for a bout in hell. i say that half laughing. but not really. i go there because i love those women, for no reason else.

my boss there tells me i won an award, being the top roles manager in the district for the month of november. i laughed.

i always laugh when we are known for who we are.

i'm not sure i have the capacity to do such hard work for so little pay. such long hours for so little return.

editing is what i need to do.

the poets i was with this weekend kept encouraging me to publish, publish. don't be afraid, don't hesitate.

after my readings, even freshly composed poems, silence.

always the silence.

i said to one jaded nj poet,

i just figure, there is nothing to say.

she said,

there is plenty to say.

yet the silence prevails.

and i fall into it trembling.

many times after i read this weekend, i was physically shaking. trying to keep my composure. but my hands were quivering as i grasped the yarn and moved the crochet hook.

sleep returned to me last night, heavily, heavily it came.
i had my head down this morning during my workshop and told them before i read,

i'm not sure i'm even awake.

after, one poet said,

if that's what you can do half asleep, i can't imagine what you can do fully functioning.

which was kind. so very kind.

the cognitive disconnect, the actual disengaging of the brain from the process of writing has always worked for me.

and i was slightly jealous that a poet who organizes readings hasn't asked me to read, but she said she is trying to work me in.

there were so many leads for journals to submit to, so many new connections made. so much to think about, remember, but i'm home now, and the heaviness of my limbs has returned.