Day 10: Grateful for Future, Whatever it May Contain

I am officially a day off.  But, for a good reason!  Last night, I got to read from Gold Passage and The Flying Trolley (and my manuscripts "500 Days" and "There's Ghosts in this Machine of Air") at Copperfield's Books.  What a pleasure to get to read to so many dear friends at a book store that I love!  It was truly a great event.  But, today, I am determined to catch up (instead of work on my taxes, or grade papers, which may or may not be a wise decision!)  The prompt I was supposed to write off of for April 10 was "ungrateful about my future".  But, since, after last night, it was impossible not to be grateful, I ended up writing about that instead. Here is my draft:


Grateful for Future, Whatever it May Contain

Hard to predict the future when you wake
to a fogged field at dawn echoing bird
song. Hard not to spend your day trying to
follow a straight line: long roads divided
by broken lines, contrails that dissipate
from the sky, a blue, shimmering pool still
unparceled by lane lines. A clock you doubt
the accuracy of.  But, the future
is funny, isn’t it?  You have no choice
but to watch it slowly emerge from fog
like a lone muscular buck.  Quivering,
unpredictable and surrounded by
the feathered hope of song.

Back from the Dead - 2 Books - And Poem-A-Day!

The past few weeks I haven't been able to post for two very good reasons:  my books!  I have two poetry collections coming out in 2013.  The first, Gold Passage, was the Trio Award winner 2012 and was published by the wonderful editors at Trio House Press.  To buy my book, visit Amazon.

My second book is a chapbook called, The Flying Trolley and it will be out in June from Finishing Line Press. It is currently in pre-sale.  That means, the number of copies I sell now, determines the print run.  So, if you are interested in picking up a copy of my chapbook, I urge you to do so before April 12th (To purchase a copy, click here).  Many of you who are close to me know that in 1996 I was hit by a car as a pedestrian in New York City. Luckily, my injuries weren't life threatening, but they were permanent. This book is about coming to terms with my own injury but more importantly it is about the incredible students who I met while working at Goldwater Hospital, a long term care hospital in New York and how they taught me more than I could teach them. The book is hybrid, containing both poetry and creative non-fiction. 

I also have four new poems about the history of Sebastopol (from last years' April poem-a-day project) published in the journal JMWW.  (You can see them here.)

Finally, speaking of poem-a-daying, I'm going to kick off another April with a poem-a-day project.  Look for prompts and rough drafts of poems posted here daily in April. And if you want to challenge yourself and need encouragement, write your own drafts and post them as comments on this blog.  

Exciting News and 500 Days, The Letter, Continued ...

I've just recieved my publication schedule for my new chapbook that will be coming out from Finishing Line Press in June 2013. My chapbook is called The Flying Trolley and is about my experience teaching writing at Goldwater Hospital in New York City.  While I was teaching, I was hit by car and left unable to walk.  The book chronicles my how the long term care residents at Goldwater Hospital taughted me how to live with my bodies limitations.  I hope the work acts as a celebration of the gift they gave me (for which I will always be grateful).  I'll post news once you can pre-order The Flying Trolley early next year.

Today, in 500 Days, Amy's mother and father leave The Dew-Drop Inn without Amy in search of help.  Hope you enjoy! :
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Veronica: From a High Steeple

I have no idea what to do but run.  William is doubled over in pain.  When I look up the street, at its peak I see, like a miracle, a white, wooden church.  It looks to be only 100 yards away.  I can carry William that far and so I do.  I carry his crumbled, bloody body up the dusty street to where the church stands.  There are people staring at us as we stumble on our way.  No one asks us if we are all alright.  They just see us, then, look down to the ground.  It’s as if we are passing through a sea of nothing.

William is able to half-walk, half-shuffle.  He’s beaten badly.  Blood is pouring out from above his right eye.  His left is swollen shut and his nose is pouring blood.  The way he’s bent over I assume he’s hurt his ribs too.  I’m only bruised up from the fall and the kick to my stomach.  I can feel blood tricking down my forehead from a gash where I must have clipped the balustrade as I fell. William moans in pain: a low animal moan that I’ve never heard from his lips before.  It is like the sound a woman makes when she is hard in labor and the baby is pressing against her, but her body won’t yet give.  I’d never heard that sound from a man.   When I try the church door, I’m not surprised to find it open.  I push us through the threshold and set William gingerly inside a pew near the door.  Then I call out. 

“Help!  Please, someone help us! We need help!” as loud as I can possibly yell. 

Almost immediately a man rushes into the room. 

“What’s the matter?”  He asks.  Then, he looks us over.  “You aren’t from around here are you?”  He asks.  “What’s happened?” 

“They have our daughter.”  I say.  “We tried to rescue her.  We came all the way from New York, but they wouldn’t let us in.”

“Where is she?  And how do you know she’s there?” He asks.

“She sent us a letter. I got it in the mail just two days ago.”  I pant.  I’m red-faced and filled with a rage I’ve never known before.  I can taste it’s coppery taste at the back of my throat.  I feel as if the whole church glowing with the singe of my anger.  The pastor sees my face and he walks over and gently sets me down in a pew. 

“I think,” he says, “I’d like to hear this story from the beginning.”