Your Face at Rest

Dear Ones, I have been inspired by a friend who moved from her self-made career as a planner of spaces for artists, to becoming a full-time artist herself. As she talked about painting and getting lost in the flow of creation and play, I found myself itching to sit down with music, pen, and paper and just write some words. Today, I paused on my walk home to do just that.

And I had an idea— what if I took the same draft idea and wrote it as a short essay and a poem draft? I’ve done this with a few ideas already, usually ideas that I am still working to figure out or that haven’t come together in the first genre I tried. But, what if I did it deliberately? What could I learn about writing and the creative process? I decided to take this week to find out.

I will send out the poem drafts via this newsletter, then I will work the same idea into a short essay, and post it on my Medium page. I hope to have some insights at the end of the week, or, at the very least, some drafts I can play with. What are you goig to experiment with this week?

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWhen you said your mother died a week ago,your eyes filled and you smiled, saying:"Oh, good. I thought I'd forgotten how to feel." Part way through the massage, when you turned face up and settled,I got to see your face at rest. Slight smile, soft lines, and perhaps a bit of mischief.This is what your muscles do,freed of caregiving, planning, holding it together.Your face at rest emerges from the depthless lake of your grief,gathers enough air to survive the next long phase of sad goodbyes.