This is where I give you the scoop, the personal low-down about me: The ‘trying to be a good human and mother’ me; the ‘getting my creative rocks off with my work because nothing sings the body electric like writing’ me; and the “trying to balance, trying to maintain a Zen-like hum that floats around my body like so much mist off a hot spring,’ me. We can start with the fact that I’ve written professionally for years and years, with accolades and high clapping, but poetry is what turns my heat on. That and magazine writing. This I didn’t know until I became an Associate Editor at an upstart young mag in Salt Lake City called the Wasatch Journal. I worked with writers and had an editorial team that was smart, funny and willing to take risks. So, I fell in love with magazine writing as well. Good magazine writing. Smart writing. And then, as has happened to many, the magazine folded. Spectacularly. One day I had a desk with a view and the Website was perky and shining and the next I was moving my stuff out in boxes with everyone else.
But here’s the kicker: two days after the magazine folded, I found out that I was pregnant. Two days. A week after that I launched into a nine-month bout of debilitating insomnia and unmentionable body weirdness that didn’t resolve until my daughter was born.
And since this page is meant to give you a sense of me, the je ne sais quoi sense of me that is so hard to transmit electronically, I’ve decided to write a little ‘About Me’ poem for your reading pleasure.
Here it is, the espresso version, in third person:
- Never was a skinny girl, always was a small girl, always had to jump.
- Wrote on her mattress at night, burning adolescent smoke and fire.
- It started here, with heat and brooding and a Jim Morrison crush, big as a movie.
- Years pass: She teaches addicts and hurt children the love of the pen.
- Years pass: She writes articles and poems on people that burn.
- Sometimes too bright, but heat attracts her, it sings the body electric.
- Stands on a street corner some days, wearing a hoop skirt, reading poetry.
- Reads lots of poetry lots of places: Austin, Portland, San Francisco, Asheville, Salt Lake City.
- Goes to New Orleans after the big water. Hammers down dry wall. Comes home.
- Makes a show and people cry and she cries.
- Meets a man with eyes that flash the kind of light and dark that she understands.
- Eats her own wedding cake. Finally, someone says. Too bad, someone else says.
- A baby comes, faster than a speedball.
- Who knew she was like spring?
- These children, these little sprouts.
- And the boy child is different, has more chromosomes than most boys, has a soft heart.
- A rocket ship.
- Her voice explodes.