Veil Thinning, Doors Opening

Dear Ones. The reality of writing for me is that sometimes it goes underground for a while. Like the strands of the mycelium it remains active, alert, quietly listening — but will not show itself above ground, for now. Every time, I trust that this is a cycle, that words will come back, deeper and richer for their time resting underground.

But the creative process continues, and sometimes what I create is not poetry, but experiences. I am pleased to announce that, along with my friend Malik Turley, I am opening the doors to Crone School in January. 

We will meet each Sunday for four weeks, and each will focus on a common perimenopausal theme: Sensation, Smarts, Sex, and Sleep. Each meeting will feature study, support, and movement -- something for us to read and talk about, a space to share our needs/concerns/ideas, and a bit of moving our bodies with love and attention.

If this speaks to you, Malik and I hope you will join us. All of you is welcome here.

And now, a poem draft. (The first in many months. It feels both fragile and indestructible.)

It is the year of the Monkey’s Paw.

I sit at the table of all I desire

with acute gastritis and

no hands to hold a fork.

This is the moment to forget how it was supposed to be,

scoot myself onto the table near the loveliest morsels

and eat.