Hello my lovely writers and friends....I have missed you (and all the poetry sites, and all your writings) something fierce these past weeks. Though I did need some time to myself to recoup. To organize some projects. And, most importantly, to work on my own self.
I've picked up some great books since my departure. I have written a few poems, and numerous articles for Pink.Girl.Ink. Press. (you'll see those posting in the coming months).
I'm excited to share a lovely poem I found during my absence. Not only did this poem inspire me to write my own poem of untruth, but the concept just really got me. Maybe it's my obsession with cafes, or perhaps it is my quick agility to try on new personas and new atmospheres (however prefabricated or imaginary) through words and writing.
This poem really just reminded me of myself, the plight I have to wish I could step into new skin sometimes. The sight of all those people in the world, so busy, so interesting...most I do not know, yet feeling any one could belong to me...as a sister, friend, lover. All the no-name faces in restaurant windows and news-stand lines, grocery store aisles and behind the wheels of shiny cars at stoplights...each one anonymous to me...yet a definite place-holder in someone else's life.
This poem made me wonder about chance meetings. About coincidence. About what we long for, verses what we get. And that, perhaps, writing is the universal fix for whatever we find absent in our lives....as this writer obviously wishes for the sister she never had.
by Karin Gottshall
Sometimes I say I'm going to meet my sister at the cafe-
even though I have no sister- just because it's such
a beautiful thing to say. I've always thought so, ever since
I read a novel in which two sisters were constantly meeting
in cafes. Today, for example, I walked alone
on the wet sidewalk, wearing my rain boots, expecting
someone might ask where I was headed. I bought
a steno pad and a watch battery, the store windows
fogged up. Rain in April is a kind of promise, and it costs
nothing. I carried a bag of books to the cafe and ordered
tea. I like a place that's lit by lamps. I like a place
where you can hear people talk about small things,
like the difference between azure and cerulean,
and the price of tulips. It's going down. I watched
someone who could be my sister walk in, shaking the rain
from her hair. I thought, even now florists are filling
their coolers with tulips, five dollars a bundle. All over
the city there are sisters. Any one of them could be mine.