“But first and foremost, I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple – or a green field – a place to enter, and in which to feel.”

~ Mary Oliver

Awake early, straight to poems, and a walk in later morning, admiring the juniper so much, it’s a standout in the desert. Deeply green and berried, with a paper like bark that peels and drips its gum. Frank and I had a good laugh. Yesterday I texted him a list of poem titles that I’ve been working on so he could see my progress. He told me this morning that while he was visiting my youngest and her boyfriend in the city last night, he had them read my “poem” aloud. They all thought I was entering a pretty strange new style. Today, I worked all day. No movies. This afternoon, I transitioned from new work to time to revise poems that I’ve workshopped over the the last six to nine months. Poems that have been shaken up by workshop and left simmering. I was a bit resistant at first. Afraid I would open them and find mishmashmush. Afraid I wouldn’t be able to figure out how to advance them. So, I just sat down and opened one. It seemed a bit daunting. So, I went for a swim. When I returned, I focused. Just cut in, line by line. I didn’t check notes. I remembered what had been suggested, to change, and I saw, yes, that was a good suggestion. And soon, I felt it was working, this poem was better, and working. I did this with two more. I will not send Frank these titles. He knows I’m making progress. I’m happiest about the three poems relating to him. I think I had a lot of poems about my father to get out of my system. There is only one of all of these about my father. Closing that chapter, I guess, with this poem: “I untied my father’s laces.” I was over my homesickness today. Back to feeling as if there won’t be enough time to work on all I want to work on. And, of course there is plenty of time. I’ve already accomplished more than I imagined.