Yes, I’m a nasty woman. And damned proud of it, too.

My poem I Am Not Your Baby was selected to be included in the Lost Horse Press Nasty Women Poets: An unapologetic anthology of subversive verse.

This is so exciting because I’ve always considered myself a feminist, and a rebel, and someone who thinks outside of the conventional box (hell, I don’t think outside of the box, I think outside of the circle).

Here’s the flyer for the upcoming book. I’m not mentioned on the flyer, of course, but it’s wonderful to be included with so many established women poets.

I seem to have become a poet, isn’t that odd? Because I don’t consider myself a poet. I see myself more as a fiction or creative nonfiction writer. But I do love words. I love reading poetry and feeling the round shape of sounds against my tongue. Sometimes I’ll repeat a line over and over for days and even weeks, especially when I’m running.

And my very favorite line of poetry ever, and the one I repeat when I’m running long distances and it starts to get tough. It’s from Richard Siken’s Scheherazade (it is my goal in life to meet Richard Siken and shake his very talented and holy hand).

Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means
we’re inconsolable.

I love the way the letters feel in my mouth. Try saying them out loud. See? Isn’t that the most beautiful feeling, those words against your lips?

P.S. I’m currently also in love with Hawk, a poem by Sid Gold, in the current issue of Flock. I adore how scattered it is while still adhering to his own form, its own rhythm. Here’s the ending, which is so still and yet strong that I can’t help marveling:

The Egyptians called them Hapiru. Bread without butter. Bread without salt. Bread without bread. The soul throws its own shadow. Set free, the heart is a small hawk.