I am genuinely excited and delighted to be involved in this new series run by Nicole Brewer, Literally just a chapbook. The book is, as it says, just a chapbook, but it is also part-magazine, part-anthology, and part-community. Content is built around a theme, in this case strong feelings. Most of the poems here express grief but Nicole made space for my poem, The Wheels, about being overwhelmed by being a parent and about children’s (people’s?) intuition for compassion. What first excited me about this project was her willingness to accept previously published poetry, which blows away one of my biggest pet peeves in the poetry ‘industry’ – that poems get one life in print, unless they luck their way into a trade book. What really got me excited was that once us lucky bunch were accepted we were all conuslted on the form and distribution of the text. I really hope other folks out there find Literally just a chapbook as an inspiration to start their own projects that bring comfort and build community.
*PS: Nicole Brewer is also working on another project, a new outlet called Frond, that wil be publishing prose from LGBTQI2SA writers. Their first deadline is November 30 so if that applies to you, you got some time to write something new.
I have a new poem up in BAD DOG REVIEW’s inaugural issue about all the times I’ve called the police. Since I last updated, I have also published a poem in Bad Nudes about talking to myself on the street, in Big Smoke Poetry about hating everyone around you, and in Bywords about afterbirth. In 2019 I hope to have more poems published in B-list outlets (see what I did there?) and beyond, as in—actually get out into the world and perform, and engage, and make you people happy.
Also if you’re in Peterborough, FFS check out all the stuff STPS is doing for Poetry Month. Justin Million and Elisha Rubacha have built an empire for good, and it can only mean good things for Ontario’s bellweather community.
Picture ancients debating archery’s
ethical implications, positing
it made killing too easy.
Picture your handsome ancestor
Picture me, with what little you know,
sucker-punching someone I loved.
Picture me hugging them. Sobbing
no malice remaining
for those who did nothing.
“I’m perpetually perfecting an expression / that affirms I had nothing to add.”