I ran 20 miles today and my legs are sore.

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Tomorrow I am running a half marathon and I’m sure it will feel a bit like my legs got mashed. If I were already a size six, there would be no call for all this running. I’d still run, but not 60 miles a week. I’d run 30 miles/week. Thirty miles is a nice pleasant amount running. Sixty is pushing your legs hard. Especially if you are not an athlete. I’m not an athlete, I’m a poet. A poet who is trying to clear my head. To clear my brain. To improve my writing, my thinking, I feel like the running should clear my head and maybe get my life going.

On a plane to Seattle and then we go to Portland on Saturday and fly home from there. I am actually ready to be home for a while. Too much travelling around, too many airplanes. I would like to be home eating our own healthy food. We have great grilled fish and chicken and salads when we are home and feeding ourselves.

We had good sushi and sake and plum wine and I feel a little better. Whidbey Island is wet and cold and it’s supposed to rain every day.

The Pacific Northwest moves more slowly than Los Angeles. You can feel life unfolding there. People talk more slowly and at least outside Seattle, they aren’t rushing around quite as much. Mark thinks he would like living here, but I keep telling him, wouldn’t you miss all the wonders of Los Angeles? The palm trees, the heat in summer that drives your AC bill up over a grand, the freeways that eat up your time, don’t you think you would miss it all? But he’s not sure that he couldn’t survive without those wonders. But don’t worry LA friends, you know we’re not moving. I have a few friends in LA and they love me so I want to stick around.

The thing with the Northwest is that it rains a lot and three is a sort of darkening of the sky a lot of the time. But they do love poetry. Washington has a poet laureate, a young woman named Sierra Nelson who doesn’t have any poetry books out, but does have a published choose your own adventure. She sounds amazing and energetic. I would like to meet her at Seattle AWP. My friend Nicelle Davis did a reading with her recently at Hugo House and Nicelle liked her very much. They want to read together with some other young poets on a glass bottomed boat in Seattle at AWP. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be reading at the glass bottomed boat because it’s a young poet thing, and I am not under thirty-five, so here’s my glass bottomed boat poem so that you know I’ve got one. This poem is going to be in my book Goldilocks Zone which is coming out this month. I can’t wait.

The Glass Orchestra Plays for Immortality

When I die, fit me with glass slippers,
say, She was a princess.
Fill your glass, drink red wine.
Leave sediment on the bottom.

Play instruments. Let elephants
play the glass orchestra.
Put glass cicadas on my tongue
like the Chinese so I will taste life again.

Make me a shroud of woven glass
like that of Napolean.
If you have fed me arsenic,
I will be preserved for a thousand years.

Lower me into water in a glass
bottomed boat. Let fishes see me.
Give me champagne so when I wake,
I will toast my entry into the next life.

Say you were like sand, ash and lime from which
glass emerges under immense heat, something
otherworldly. My face will be something
you see through, play the glass orchestra.

Every note making me larger than. Immortal.
They will say, She died. They will say, Who was she?
The music will go on. My music. While champagne flows,
you’ll remember me then, my face, my voice.

Published in: on January 8, 2014 at 8:54 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Beautiful

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