Perhaps it was the Witch’s Hat that cast the final spell: I now seek out poetry.
I never saw that coming. Like many people, I was well into my adulthood and still believed poetry was something to be suffered. My conversion to poetry has been slow. My friend Kara was the first to warm me to the idea of poetry. “What’s not to like? Sixty seconds and you’re done.” That took the fright out of poetry. I didn’t seek it out, but I could approach poetry without suffering.
Then last year, I ran across a poet in one of Portland’s farmers markets. Tristan, using an old fashioned typewriter, would write a poem for you while you shopped. I think poetry perhaps, like vegetables, looks better in the fresh air. But here also was a piece of art that I could afford to commission. I commissioned two poems that spring. Yes, I puffed my chest as I typed that. I commissioned . . . Continue reading